Shattered Lives
by starstruckgazer
Summary: When Ichigo's friends are killed by Soul Society, he turns to the only one that can help: Aizen. His closeness to the man develops into something more. Rated for a reason. Warnings: postwar, yaoi, violence, some gore and angst. Contains other pairings.
1. Chapter 1: The Birthday Massacre

It was over. Ichigo had won.

But why did he feel empty? Was it because he'd lost his powers? Because he'd had to see so many people get hurt because he couldn't protect them?

He didn't know the answer.

Nobody did.

After his victory, his life had gone back to how it was before: going to school, hitting Keigo, chatting with Mizuiro, declining Orihime's offers for dinner at her house (her cooking had remained the same) and driving off bullies that were after him and Chad. But when he was alone, he could feel the numbness creeping up on him. He couldn't see spirits anymore, couldn't help his friends in "Hollow patrol", as Orihime called it.

He was useless now. And he knew it.

And one day, Soul Society had decided the elimination of his friends would be for the greater good. They arrived suddenly at Orihime's house, where they were eating, everything was going so fast it was like a blur, the world going too fast for him. And then the world stopped. His friends were dead, blood gushing out of their bodies onto the floor. Only he was spared, as "reward for saving Soul Society and the Seireitei". He was so useless he couldn't even stop the Onmitsukidou squad from killing them.

Every moment of the day, he could hear Orihime's yells and pleads to be spared. He could smell the blood, he'd see it staining the nearest surfaces. He'd remember Uryuu's face of determination before he was stabbed in the stomach, Chad's alarmed expression before even he was eliminated. Soi Fon and most of the other captains when they'd forced him to watch, some of their faces contorting into masks of insane glee as they saw the massacre, the day of his birthday.

The memories would plague him day and night, every moment of his existence.

A week after his friends' murder, he'd started deteriorating: he wouldn't eat, and rest was rare because the thoughts would come up like bile in his throat, and when he did manage to sleep, it would be short and fitful or torturingly long yet never satisfying – but the nightmares would always be there. Sometimes they'd just replay the massacre, but more often he'd dream of his friends accusing him of not being able to save them, the skin blotched everywhere in red, wounds littering their bodies, limbs missing…

The look of purest loathing and disgust in Orihime's sunken eyes as she yelled at him, her tortured, bloodied hands wrapping around his throat, leaving him gasping for air. Or Ishida insulting him, telling him he was useless, pathetic, while his inner organs started slipping out of his stomach wound onto the floor, littered with the corpses of his friends, his family, everyone he knew. And Chad,a disgusted expression on his face, as words of pure poison slipped out of his mouth, the head held in the body's arm as his flesh started to rot and desintegrate. All of them saying together that he should have been murdered like them that night.

_**15**__**th**__** of July**_

It was _that _day again. The anniversary of his friends' murders. Despite the time of the year, it was deadly cold, and the rain had been pouring nonstop for a week. A year had passed since the massacre, and Ichigo had changed. His hair was as long as it had been during the final battle, but he'd lost weight and his face had a permanent expression of sadness. The most shocking thing was his eyes: the molten caramel color they'd had was now dulled and opaque, flat, unmoving. During the past year his friends had been mourning as well, and he hadn't had much company from anyone else except the vizard's occasional visits, as the Seireitei was still searching for them, and Urahara, who often tried to unsuccessfully restore his morale, trying to hide the fact that he too was still recovering from the shock of Ururu and Jinta's deaths.

He'd decided to meet his friends at the cemetery, where their friends' tombs were. The sky seemed to reflect his feelings perfectly: flat grey when he'd woken up, evolving into the deepest blue when it started storming, lightning cutting through the sky.

Ichigo donned warm clothes and went outside, not bothering to bring an umbrella. When he reached the cemetery he was already wet to the bone, but it didn't matter. He enjoyed the cold, one of the only real sensations he'd felt in weeks. It was as if the sky was mourning with him.

Tatsuki, Keigo and Mizuiro had left hours ago, after praying with him for their friends. They'd lit incense at the best of their abilities despite the storm and quietly murmured to their friends, hoping their words would reach them, even if they knew they were in Soul Society. Ichigo had remained longer, asking them to go on without him, saying he needed to "think about stuff".

Ichigo meditated as he looked at the white, pristine graves of his friends and comrades, bathed in rain. The cold seeped into his body, but he didn't care. He only needed his mind to think, after all.

Since their death, he hardly felt anything. The only emotion he still had besides that soft, continuous love for his family and remaining friends was undiluted hate towards Soul Society and constant pain for the loss of his friends. That had been the hardest to deal with: the first few weeks after the murder the pain was white-hot and scorching, searing at his soul the entire time. It had started to wane with time, leaving only an aching, perpetual feeling of sadness, but it only needed a trigger to consume him.

But he couldn't continue to mope like this. It wasn't what his friends would want.

Yeah, they wouldn't want me like this. They want me dead too. If they feel as they do in my nightmares.

He had to have revenge on the shinigami. It had been the only thought that had kept him alive for all these months, keeping him motivated. He knew most people said revenge was futile and useless, causing more misery than benefit. But there were times when he'd have the urge to just kill something, or rather somebody. He could picture beating the shit out of Soi Fon, smashing her head against a wall so many times her brains would be gushing out of her head, wiping her face of that irritating smug look she'd had during the massacre. Or Yamamoto-Soutaicho, consumed by his own flames, writhing in pain on the floor.

He swore to his friends' graves with his blood. They would be avenged, no matter what it took, or how long he'd have to wait.

Urahara's store was still how it had always been: small and shabby on the outside, but at least three times its size on the inside. As he entered, Urahara was sitting on the floor, alone, hat over his eyes and fan in hand.

"Ah, Kurosaki-kun, what can I do for you?"

"How do I restore my powers?"

Urahara's smirk just grew behind the paper fan.

**Two months later**

Ichigo was panting, exertion taking its toll. Sparring with Urahara was hard. The man would never stop moving, attacking him from unexpected angles and constantly surprising him. But it didn't matter if training was harsh, the exhilarating rush of having his powers back and the incumbency of his revenge against Soul Society giving him all the motivation he needed to stand Geta boshi's taunts and comments.

With the return of his reiatsu, he'd started returning more like he was before the massacre. He still mourned them, and had frequent bouts of sadness, but he tried keeping his morale up for Keigo, Mizuiro and Tatsuki. He knew they needed his support as well.

The sound of a blade slicing through the air towards his ear brought his attention to the problem at hand: Urahara. He swung Tensa Zangetsu straight at him, the feeling of the sword's hilt in his hands familiar and comforting, like a friend. Urahara's hat flied off its owner's head and settled onto the ground.

"Well, Kurosaki-kun" -the man practically sang- "I think you've passed the test. You're more than ready, but I wouldn't advise you to go against them single handed. They don't quite have the quality, but they have plenty of quantity."

"What do you mean by single-handed? Aren't you and Tessai coming with me?"

"Kurosaki-kun, Tessai and I have a sweet shop to run, you know. We can't go around picking fights with Soul Society! We have serious business to attend to!"

"Oh. I'll have to ask him then." Replied the orange haired teen with a slight frown on his face, eyes contemplating the basement's desert-like scenery.

"Urahara-san, how can I unbind Aizen?"

"Kurosaki-kun, are you sure you want to do that?". For once, the shopkeeper's voice was serious.

"He's the only one who can help me now."

"All right then! Let's get started!"

The man's mood swings were getting annoying.

Getting into Avici, the underground prison in which Aizen was kept, was far easier than what Ichigo had thought. The guards were absent (thanks to Urahara's quick gas-bomb expedient further up and at the Shinigami Research Institute, creating chaos) and the silence was eerie. His steps resonated against the floor, the only sound around him. A heavy iron doorway closed the actual confines of the prison, but despite its size, it gave away almost immediately when he swung Zangetsu against the metal.

The prison was more cave-like than he'd imagined, lightless and damp. He could barely make out Aizen's silhouette, at the back of the cave, still bound on the chair he'd received his sentence on.

He let his reiatsu leak out, allowing it to probe its way to the bindings, forming slythering black and red words around the binding substance. As each character formed on the surface beneath it, the bonds started dissolving, almost as if crumbling and disappearing into thin air.

The last to go were the ones against Las Noches' overlord's mouth and eyes, and Aizen spoke for the first ime in over a year, his voice surprisingly uncracked from disuse.

"What a pleasure, ryoka boy. And to what do I owe this favour?". The voice was like always, amused and silky, the pleasant, honeyed words barely betraying the malice and poison so often hidden beneath them.

"I want you to help me." Ichigo's response was calm, controlled.

"I understand. I thought you'd come, sooner or later. It was only a matter of time."

Arrogant as always.

Ichigo was surprised at that. He'd known the man to be arrogant and slightly know-it-all, but this was near impossible. Could he just be saying that? "How did you know?"

He chuckled. A chuckle that sent shivers running down his spine, because that was often the indicator that the man hadn't been lying. "Everybody knows the Central 46 and Soul Society eliminate what isn't necessary any longer to them. You defeated me and lost your powers, expiring your utility. I'm surprised they didn't kill you, though. Who died?"

"That's none of your business."

"Very well. I suppose you want revenge on Soul Society." Ichigo nodded sombrely. "But I don't make deals without profit to me. What will I have in return?"

Ichigo lowered his eyes, thinking it over for the last time. If he spoke, he'd seal his fate. If he didn't, he could still back out of it.

He opened his mouth. "Anything you want."

Aizen's mouth could only widen in a smirk.


	2. Chapter 2: Pact with the Devil

About a dozen or so alarms went off in the surveillance room, howling loudly and emitting all sorts of red lights, awakening a few sleeping members of the Research Institute.

"Red alert – Aizen and an unidentified person have breached the Chamber of the Central 46! Komuro, find out who's freed Aizen! Now!" the superintent's voice was almost panicked, it was rare to hear him speak like this.

Komuro, the newbie in the Institute, started checking all databases for the unknown reiatsu signature. An image formed before his eyes, something that shouldn't be remotely possible.

"I-impossible…" he stuttered, eyes still glued to the screen.

"Who is it, Komuro? Come on, we don't have time to play around!"

"It's… K-Kurosaki Ichigo…"

"What!" the superintendent's face turned an ugly beet red. This was not a good sign, ever. "Don't fool around with me, boy!" the man grabbed the front of his robes, keeping him too close for comfort to his face. Komuro was about to piss his pants. "Are you sure the information is correct?"

"Y-yes, sir.". He nodded to enforce his certainty.

"Very well.". the man's complexion paled quickly and he let go of the poor boy's robes. "Announce an A-level emergency to the whole Seireitei".

Ichigo felt alive. It didn't matter if he was siding with the enemy, all he wanted to do was to avenge his friends: nothing else mattered. He didn't care if he didn't know Aizen's terms to the deal ("I'll inform you of my plans later on"), and that he was certain the traitor would probably ask some near-impossible thing.

It didn't matter.

The important thing was the rush of their reiatsu as they destroyed every barrier between them and the goal, whether it was shinigami or ward. Except training, it was probably the only thing that had made him feel real.

They had almost reached the Seijoto Kyorin when an Onimitsukidou force task had barred their path.

Soi Fon was there.

Ichigo's heart rate went up. Here, now, was one of the people he'd fantasized to kill for months. One of his prime targets.

He took a step forward.

"I'll take care of Soi Fon."

Aizen nodded, trademark smirk still in place.

"Kurosaki Ichigo and Aizen Sousuke, you are both guilty of treason. I have permission to take you into custody or kill you.". Soi Fon was, as always, blunt and to the point.

"If you can." Ichigo had shunpoed behind her, the captain not even noticing till Zangetsu's blade was a bit too close for her liking.

"Sting your enemies to death, Suzumebachi.". The tiny sword had appeared on the woman's finger. "I do not tolerate insolence from children. Die!" she shunpoed forward, but Ichigo was quick to stop her, moving away from the captain's shikai with ease.

"If you can catch me! Don't you remember who taught me shunpo, Soi Fon?"

Tensa Zangetsu pierced her lung before she could even attempt to defend herself.

They exchanged several blows in rapid succesion, neither willing to give up, but Soi Fon was starting to decelerate, and her blows were losing their strenght.

_Dammit. How can he be so strong when only a year ago he was at our complete mercy?_

_…_

_Wait, did I just admit that trash was strong? What the hell am I thinking? I'll win, whatever it takes. He'll be dead at my feet shortly._

The air whizzed behind her.

"Come on, Soi Fon. Activate your bankai. This fight's getting boring.". Ichigo distanced himself again from the panting captain, who was trying to compose herself and regain her breath despite the pierced lung.

"Fine. Don't complain when I defeat you.".

Her reiatsu started escalating rapidly, swirling in the air between them, and then it finally started condensing. Ichigo couldn't wait. He was tired of playing around; he needed revenge, and now.

" Bankai. Jakuho Raikoben ". The protective armour of her Bankai formed around her right arm, covering part of her face as well. "You're dead now, boy."

Reiatsu started accumulating around her, the air filled with static electricity. The energy started grouping around her armour, making it sizzle with golden sparks.

An enourmous blast of energy came from her zanpakutou. The Seijoto Kyorin's antechamber was filled with light, and nothing more was visible.

Aizen was bored. Killing the Onmitsukidou task force had been far too easy, as they were dead before they could even stand a chance (not that they ever did), but the boy's – Ichigo's – fight against Soi Fon had proved to be entertaing enough. Watching the boy fighting had always been interesting: the way his muscles would tense and flex, the orange hair getting messy, his reaction to enemy attacks, whether from petty bullies or against opponents much stronger than the ones he could encounter in Karakura (excluding the time he'd been there).

Ichigo was truly interesting. He'd always be there to surprise him before the game got dull and to thwart his plans whenever he needed a livening-up. He'd thought of turning the boy to his side before, but the teenager had seemed so indisposed it would have probably been a waste of time.

Maybe it would of turned out, who knew. But still, they were allies now. He truly mourned the loss of Gin, and had been mentally debating over who should have to be his lieutenant while he was still inprisoned, and Ichigo seemed be a good choice. Plus, he'd been promised to have anything he wanted, and Ichigo had never specified a quantity limit.

He could ask him to do anything, and it would still be perfectly honest. He'd have to teach him how to make a proper deal later on.

Ichigo had just managed to pierce Soi Fon's lung. He was surprised he hadn't simply killed her then and there, but he supposed he wanted the woman to suffer as much as he had – the specific amount of pain still unknown to him. He could make easy presumptions on people's thoughts, but Ichigo's logic sometimes didn't have too much sense.

Aizen knew Ichigo wanted revenge, but he wasn't planning on playing tag with the Central 46. It'd be too boring. He'd have put an end to the fight under any other circumstance, but he knew that he'd have to let the boy get his revenge. He just wished he would put a bit more effort into the fight, as he was only toying with the Onmitsukidou captain, and it was getting vaguely disappointing.

But then, Soi Fon used her bankai. He'd already seen it, and it wasn't too impressive, at least in his opinion. Sure, it might work against weaker enemies, but it was useless against Ichigo: as the light began fading, he could begin to see the boy's reiatsu, curled protectively around him like some sort of cocoon made of black and red flames.

And then, he struck. Soi Fon never actually had a chance of winning, and after her attack in bankai, which used up much of her reiatsu and stamina, coupled with a pierced lung and a few other gashes, made her pathetic trash. As her lifeless body collapsed to the ground, he could almost make out a triumphant smirk on Ichigo's lips before he kicked her head against the wall, bits of brain and a torrent of blood splattering on the wall.

He hoped the rush of revenge hadn't completely ruined Ichigo. He was interesting enough even without it.

Revenge was _great_. It was as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders, and he felt freer, more in control. Whoever had said it was an empty thing was wrong: Soi Fon's murder made his heart beat faster, he could feel adrenaline and morphine rushing through his veins, the blood pounding in his head.

He left Soi Fon's corpse there, pushed against the wall. It could rot for all he cared.

Aizen shunpoed from his chair, barely moving the air. The man was still better than him in many ways, and he knew he was probably second to him in strenght and anything else (maybe not intelligence though), but he couldn't help but admire him. In the end, he'd been right to rebel against Soul Society, though he couldn't justify him for wanting to create the O-ken in Karakura, or for some of his methods. The man had always stirred something up in him: he was intelligent, strong, and was probably considered attractive by the female popoulation both of Seireitei and Las Noches, but those weren't what interested him the most: it was the man's air of mystique, which could always conceal about any emotion, and the man's unpredictability.

A light tap to the shoulder brought him crashing back to reality.

"We still need to eliminate the Central 46. No second thoughts, I hope?"

Ichigo smirked. "Why should I have second thoughts? I did what was right, that's it."

"Very well. Let us proceed then."

The gigantic doors of the Seijoto Kyorin opened, the hinges creaking from disuse.

The Central 46's guards were poised, ready to attack. Aizen and Ichigo nodded together once, and a fraction of a second later they were moving on.

The members of the Central 46 were all huddled in a small room to the side, hardly noticeable. A few of them were holding weapons, trying to defend themselves. Most of their faces were outwardly terrorized, others were trying to put on an arrogant façade, as if trying to make the intruders believe they were stronger.

Of course, it couldn't fool the master of lies and deceit. And Ichigo wasn't very impressed as well. He could almost smell the fear emanating from the bodies.

As with the guards, it was matter of instants before forty-six lives were ended. Ichigo felt no remorse: he was positive that they'd had a hand in his friend's massacre, most likely directly.

"Ichigo.". His head snapped towards Las Noches' former overlord. He was spacing out a bit too much today. "I wish to inform you of my plans. It would be counterproductive if you later disagreed. To put it simply, I plan on creating the O-ken and taking the Spirit King's place. Regrouping to Hueco Mundo would be the best option for now, as we can deal with the rest of the Gotei 13 any other time we want."

"Are you going to use Karakura to create it?". Ichigo almost feared the answer. If it was affirmative, their deal was off, no excuses, and he'd have to do the Shinigami's dirty work again.

"I think an area in Soul Society would be more appropriate. We could even use some of our enemies to create it, it wouldn't be too hard. And if this fails, though it's improbable, I can alwayas find out from Yamamoto. Your hometown and friends will not be harmed.".

Just the mention of the word friends made Ichigo frown and look down, even if he was relieved by Aizen's promise not to harm his town, though he was aware he probably shouldn't be too trusting with the man. But it was suddenly clear to Aizen: to the boy, his friends were the most important. And Soul Society always knew which buttons to press. It was the same thing he'd have done in a similar situation.

"Just remember, Ichigo, I can have whatever I want as my side of the deal. Let's go."

A shiver went through Ichigo's spine, and as the Garganta opened, he knew this was the point of no return.

It was as if he's sealed a pact with the Devil.


	3. Chapter 3: White

**Chapter 3**

**White**

Ichigo's eyes flew open, sweat glistening on his brow and hands fisting the sheets roughly as he breathed in several times, attempting to calm himself. The images he'd dreamt of were still imprinted on his retinas, dancing before his eyes in a flurry of colors as he tried to reconnect with reality. He'd half-expected to see the familiar landscape of his room, full of painfully bittersweet memories, but was greeted by neverending white. The ceiling, furniture, door, window frames and carpets were all the purest, untainted white. For a moment, he almost panicked, unsure of his location, wondering if he'd been imprisoned, and then he remembered: he was in Las Noches. With Aizen. He still couldn't believe he'd decided to strike a bargain with the man, but he had to admit the traitor wasn't all that bad once he set aside the whole 'I'm a God and you must bow down to me, for I am holier than thou' attitude, and had revealed a propensity for sarcasm and irony and a standable character. Still, Ichigo was somewhat wary of Aizen: if he'd managed to fool the whole Seireitei, hoodwinking a partially human teenager must be a piece of cake. All of the man's words could be lies for all he knew, and considering the small amount of knowledge he had, they probably were.

But there was that part of him that wanted to trust the traitor, the side of him that wanted to bare all his darkest secrets to the older man or anybody else and be comforted and reassured. After his friends' murders he'd become so wary and untrusting of anyone in general, one time making even Tatsuki cry as he'd refused to tell her what was wrong for days on end before the murder scene was found by the police. He'd isolated himself from everyone, hiding beneath a false front, and was now desperate for somebody to notice and pull him out of his despair.

Turning his mind away from disturbing and melancholy thoughts, he proceeded to don his clothes. Aizen had insisted that he should wear white, like all the others in Las Noches. Surprisingly, the enormous palace hadn't been entirely destroyed by the shinigami, and though the arrancar population was depleted, it wasn't completely annihilated. Some of the Espada were alive as well, like Grimmjow (who had tried to kill Ichigo upon sight), Nel, who had returned to her place as Tercera after training for a while, and Ulquiorra. Ichigo had stared at the pale man in surprise for what had felt like hours before he finally asked him how he was alive, and had been told that the fragments of his destoyed body, after fluctuating about Hueco Mundo for some time, had managed to regroup, making his body and soul whole again. And then the Espada had started rambling on about the physical and technical aspects of the soul and Ichigo had promptly blocked Ulquiorra's voice out, adding a few noncomittal grunts, 'hm's,'yes's and 'sure's here and there while trying to think about the most nonsensical things as the pale man deviated into an animated (for him at least) monologue on the heart and feelings. He'd hastily excused himself shortly after, as it reminded him too much of Orihime, but had been treated civilly from the arrancar during dinner, while Grimmjow seemed to make Ichigo's death his priority. As he couldn't kill him, he resolved to sneer, threaten and insult him repeatedly during the meal, but Ichigo simply ignored him or talked back to the blue-haired hooligan.

Finally knotting his obi, which was red instead of the standard black (something that should have disturbed him more than it did, as it was Aizen's color), he grabbed Zangetsu and walked towards the room the older man had pointed out to him as he told Ichigo to join him for breakfast. He felt uneasy knowing he'd be sharing breakfast with Aizen of all people, who could kill him without even blinking, but was more perplexed about the reason he'd been invited, and he had a somewhat bad feeling in his gut. And usually his gut was right.

XxX

Despite knowing where the breakfast room was, Ichigo couldn't help getting lost in Las Noches' whiteness. The place was slightly overwhelming, with its high-vaulted ceilings and gigantic corridors that seemed to stretch for miles, neverending. He had no idea how much time had passed, the minutes seemed to fade into hours as time dilated, or the exact opposite would happen when seconds turned to a fraction of a heartbeat as time seemed to shorten. Within five minutes of leaving his room (or what seemed like five minutes) he'd lost all sense of time, and when he passed the occasional window the scenery outside didn't help at all, whether it faced the inside or the outside of the dome. He had to try his hardest to not lose his sense of direction as well. Luckily, he'd left about almost an hour earlier, so hopefully he'd be able to meet Aizen in time.

Ichigo turned to the left, and finally spotted the door the man had pointed out to him the night before. As he grasped the handle and opened the door, a rich scent invaded his nostrils: he could discern the sweet fragrance of English tea, the one of some kind of baked goods, some flowery smell and strangely cinnamon and cloves. He opened his eyes and saw a small round table, white of course, with two small teacups set on it with their respective saucers. The room seemed to differ greatly from most of Las Noches' modern architecture: it had a neoclassical style about it. There were several columns, white with black bases, and the floor was a mosaic of the two colors, the smooth tiles creating geometric patterns on the borders and complicated figures of what seemed to be Greek and Ancient Roman divinities in the centre. A large bouquet of many types of flowers sat on a small table to the side, and an elegant black and white trolley was laden with all sorts of pastries, scones, petit fours and a cake, a teapot, milk and cream jugs and a sugarbowl. Aizen was sitting calmly on one of the pure-white rococò style armchairs, sipping tea from his cup, his lips curved in his infamous smirk which was so often set on his features. He put his teacup down on the saucer he was holding and opened his mouth to speak.

"Ah, just in time, Ichigo-kun. I was starting to think you would be tardy.". The man's voice seemed to be smooth as silk as it caressed the air around it, as if complementing the odours wafting from the tea trolley.

"Yeah… I'm not familiar with Las Noches. It's a bit confusing." As Ichigo spoke, the words already seemed pathetic. It was as if his voice couldn't express what was on his mind.

"Have a seat, Ichigo-kun. We have important matters of which we have to discuss of."

Ichigo sat down on the couch opposite Aizen, and as if on cue, an arrancar maid came in through an unnoticeable door, which seemed to meld into the wall. The servant poured him some tea – probably Earl Grey – and after asking demurely how much sugar he'd like, the maid set the teacup and saucer down on a small coffee table between the two men.

The traitor took a sip of his tea, and the arrancar padded away noiselessly to the door, closing it with hardly any sound. Aizen put his teacup once more on the saucer and set the latter on the table.

"As I've told you before leaving Soul Society, my objective is to become Spirit King. Defeating the lesser shinigami will be an easy task, but we'll need to keep most of the captains alive to create the O-ken. Your will have to fight with me as some arrancar set up the equipment for the creation of the key, and before the souls are condensed, we will move to outside the area." Aizen sipped his tea again. "But that is not was concerns me. You will need to train to hone your skills further, as your instruction in the shingami arts is fragmented and incomplete. I'm aware that you've been training for the past months with Urahara Kisuke, but you've been practicing mostly zanjutsu. While we wait for Soul Society to make its move and as we replenish the arrancar army, I will train you in the various shinigami arts, and I'll arrange for some Espada to spar with you occasionally. I will expect serious improvements during the first week of training in all the disciplines I or others will instruct you in."

Ichigo stared at him dumbfounded for an instant, and then exploded, banging his hands on the table and standing up in a bout of dramatics.

"You're insane! You really can't expect me to improve in all the things you'll teach me in a week?"

Aizen's face remained calm, schooled in an expression of amusement as always, not even fazed by the boy's reaction, but his eyes had a malicious glint. "Why, I believe I can, Ichigo-kun. As you achieved Bankai in three days, I cannot see why you shouldn't be able to increase your proficiency in Zanjutsu, Hakuda, Kido, Hoho and some basic strategy notions in a week. Though you haven't practiced some of these arts ever before, I'm sure you'll be able to learn quickly."

That condescending smile again. Ichigo was so mad he'd like to wipe it off Aizen instantly, but instead sat back down and calmed himself.

"Fine."

The immortal's lips turned upwards in a smirk once more.

XxX

Ichigo panted as he skidded across the training grounds. Aizen could almost feel that chest heaving with exertion, could hear the strained breaths emitted by the teen. He twisted his foot slightly to the right and shunpoed towards Ichigo, attacking him from behind. His punch was stopped in mid-air as the boy grabbed his fist and attempted to turn him over, but the traitor shinigami had already moved away to the strawberry's side, managing to land a kick as Ichigo was still frozen in mid-turn. The teen distanced himself, clutching his painful side. Aizen could almost feel the other's muscles contracting and distending beneath his touch as he observed the portion of his bare chest exposed by his gi. He briefly wondered if he'd agreed to help the boy only because of his attraction, but he abandoned his reflections to shunpo once more towards the teen, this time attacking him from the front. Ichigo, not expecting the man's movement, had turned in the opposite direction, but managed to return to face him speedily. He aimed a punch at the traitor's face, who lazily moved his head to right a little, and tried to land a kick on the man, but was outspeeded as Aizen shunpoed away again, though not too far from the exerted teen. The boy moved forward to attack in a flurry of movement, but each strike was blocked except a punch to his ribs, fracturing them. The traitor barely had time to feel the bones breaking before high-speed regeneration kicked in.

At least, Ichigo was improving: his strikes had augmented in strenght and his defence was being perfectioned with each of Aizen's blows. The immortal had always seen great potential in the boy, and was happy to see the teen's progression went according to his plans. And he was never wrong. Well, never except for the small miscalculation with the Hogyoku's self-destruction device, but he'd already 'learned his lesson' and moved on. He'd managed to control the gem of distruction again, and now he fully understood it. He would reach perfection with his greater power, which he'd regained in prison. Despite being aquitted with all the Hogyoku's secrets, Urahara's binding had succeeded in blocking all his attempts of escape. And so, he'd waited for the boy who was, at the moment, giving him a powerful roundhouse kick followed by a shower of punches.

Once again, the brown-haired man avoided them all with small movements of his bust, face, or entire body to the side. While moving, he'd aim various punches or kicks to Ichigo or some minor kido spells, most of which the boy managed to avoid, but he'd occasionally get hit by a few of them. Aizen could see the boy moving as if he was performing a beautiful but deadly dance: he'd dodge left and right, sometimes turning around and shifting his weight while preparing an attack or getting ready to defend himself from an upcoming threat.

And once again, he could see each of the boy's muscles tensing and moving with every shift of his stance, and would mentally follow the sweat droplets' course on the strawberry's skin, wondering what the rest of the boy's body would like. As far as he'd seen, Ichigo wasn't quite as muscled as before, but had more of a lithe look about him. He interrupted his fantasies once more at the sight of one of the many arrancar maids, who'd come to summon them for dinner. The arrancar waited patiently near the training grounds' entrance, unmoving even when sand sprayed on her face.

Having waited enough for Ichigo to notice the maid, he shunpoed behind him to whisper in his ear.

"Ichigo-kun." He saw the vaizard's neck stiffen and break out in gooseskin. "Dinner is served." Shunpoing back in front of the boy, he continued, switching to a normal tone of voice.

"Please go bathe and, at six o'clock, meet me in the Espada's room. We will dine after the meeting. Do you know it's location or would you prefer to be accompanied?"

He kept his tone warm and inviting, trying to convey only pleasantry, but knew the poison would always creep under whatever words he'd utter. He knew Ichigo would feel a subtle threat hiding under the cover of civil conversation, but who wouldn't with Aizen? And most likely he wouldn't be able to identify the danger anyways.

He saw the teen's brow contracting a bit more in thought for a mere instant before he responded.

"No… it'd be ok if someone came to pick me up though…"

"Excellent. I'll see you at dinner after the meeting then, Ichigo-kun."

And with one last sweeping gaze, Aizen turned tail and left.

XxX

Ichigo submerged his head in the bubble filled bath water just enough to keep his nose above the soap suds. It was as if every muscle of his body was loosening and being recreated anew. After the decision of this morning to partake in these training sessions of sorts, which all ended up in sparring except for sometimes strategy, he hadn't had any resting moment, as Aizen had expected him to be attentive and with easy reflexes for the whole day.

But now, soaking in the bathtub, he could finally relax. The large tub was right next to a gigantic window overlooking the white desert. As he couldn't see the rest of Las Noches, his room was probably at one of the extremes of the enourmous palace, or at the very top of it. The thing that had surprised him the most was the silence, eerie and constant, despite the multitude of arrancar inhabiting Las Noches.

Afraid of being late and not wanting to indulge in the thoughts that usually occupied his mind, he rose from the water and stepped out, reaching for the towel (white of course) that was on a small stool next to the bathtub, and then dried himself. He slipped on a pristine uniform an arrancar had left on his bed and, finally slipping his shoes on, exited the bathroom and his annexed bedroom. The corridor was , if possible, quieter than his quarters with the exception of his and the arrancar maid's resounding footsteps. It stretched on for what seemed like miles, and after walking for a while he finally spotted the door he was looking for.

In the meeting room, all the remaining Espada were sitting at the long white table. A new member had joined them: some pink-haired freak with glasses and a slightly insane air about him.

"Welcome, Ichigo-kun. We were about to begin without you. Please sit here." He gestured to the seat on his immediate right and the substitute shinigami plopped down onto the high-backed chair.

"Now that we are all here, let me revise my plans. Firstly, we will need to replenish the arrancar army, and later we will do some shinigamification. I have managed to find the method recreate the previous Espadas while strenghtening them at the same time so they will have greater reiatsu and another energy release, somewhat like Bankai, but it will require some time, two months at the most. I expect all of you to hone your abilities during this period."

Aizen took a sip of his tea, and continued.

"Then, we will invade Soul Society to create the O-ken. I will require your help to distract the Gotei 13 and to force them to activate their Bankai while some other arrancar help me prepare the equipment to create the O-ken. Under any circumstance are you to kill Captains or their lieutenants as they are the primary reiatsu source there. You are allowed to eliminate anybody else you wish."

The pink-haired guy pushed up his glasses, painfully reminding Ichigo of Ishida with the gesture.

"Aizen-sama, I find it hard to obey ot your order."

The traitor shinigami's reiatsu raised to what was obviously untolerable to most of the room's occupants. "Why would that be so, Szayel?"

The pink-haired guy, or Szayel, gulped visibly before answering. " B-because it's dificult to restrain myself while fighting such weaklings, Aizen-sama…". The Espada was about to pass out, but Aizen lowered his reiatsu emission abruptly.

"Very well, Szayel. I think there's nothing else to talk about. Of course, all Espada will be coming into the Spirit King's realm. Now, please follow me.".

Ichigo had always been amazed at how the man talked: he could voice out a request while making it seem like an order, or could threaten someone while speaking in a calm voice, making it appear as idle chat.

The Espada all rose, Grimmjow with a scowl and the rest with looks of plain indifference or disinterest, and followed Aizen to an adjacent room, shrouded in darkness. In the center of it, on what resembled a platform, was a half-formed arrancar, seemingly the first Espada, Stark, at least according to what Ichigo had heard from the captains.

"Have a seat." And with this, Las Noches' overlord jestured again towards a row of white chairs to the side.

Aizen opened his gi, the Hogyoku glinting briefly on the man's flat abdomen before sending out an enormous amount of reiatsu, followed by a blast of blinding light that illuminated the whole room.

XxX

Finally at home. He was a patient man, but waiting in the dank prison in Seiretei for a year had been tiring.

And now, he'd returned to the pure whiteness. The halls that stretched on for miles and the flat white desert that extended for many more, the entire scenery basking under the light of the moon.

Upon returning, he'd ordered a maid to prepare him a pot of his specially blended tea, he'd sat down and enjoyed the drink and the view outside his room, and then read a few books. But then, he'd gotten bored. There were no subordinates to toy with and no Gin to constantly meddle, yet never failing to amuse him in some way. So he decided to honour his dead comrade, even if a traitor, by dedicating himself to his lieutenant's favorite activity: spying the castle's inhabitants in the monitor room.

Most arrancar were rather uninteresting subjects, and the Espada soon bored him. And then, Aizen spotted the monitor to Ichigo's bathroom – with the boy undressing to get into a bubble-filled tub. He'd always found the boy attractive in some way, but his opinion could only be enforced as he observed his naked form, which he'd only fantasised about during training: he was lean and not too bulky, well proportioned and slightly feminine with his lithe body, his ass forming a perfect curve. The boy lowered himself into the bathtub, moaning in delight as the hot water lapped at his skin. For a while, he simply soaked in the porcelain tub and contemplated the stretch of the desert outside the window, but then he grabbed a sponge and began to scrub himself. Though it wasn't intended as sensual, the way in which Ichigo's hands guided the sponge over his skin was positively arousing, and Aizen felt his hakama get a bit too constricting. After washing himself, he returned to observing the scenery outside. After a while, he seemed to remember there was the Espada meeting and their dinner appointment, and got out of the bathtub. Aizen was even more turned on as the strawberry started drying himself and he could see his entire body. The boy's flaccid cock sat nestled in orange curls, and as he bent over he committed to memory every contour of his ass. Ichigo dressed (too quickly for Aizen's liking) and exited his chambers.

Las Noches' overlord really needed a shower before the Espada meeting.


	4. Chapter 4: Interlude Untold stories

**Chapter 4**

**Interlude.**

**Untold stories**

He cracked open an eye. The crimson splatter still adorned the whiteness of his wall. He'd slept for a while, and no maid had yet cleaned the bloody mess on it or on the floor.

Tch. He'd just kill him/her when they came in, then. Much easier.

He wasn't particularly hungry, but it didn't matter. He'd hunt anyways. Jumping from the balcony, which faced outside the dome of Las Noches, he landed crouching, sand spraying in every direction. He ran towards the open desert, away from the place that had both freed him and bound him at the same time, to white sand that stretched anywhere his gaze could reach, the pale light of the moon creating watery shadows when it hit the castle or the stick-like 'trees', set in the sand in haphazard patterns. He headed towards his favorite hunting place, and his bloodlust only grew with each step of Sonido.

He was about to go insane just from the amount of adrenaline pumping in his veins (that is, if he had any 'sanity' left, a pitiful ideal to which humans, frail and weak, clung to desperately, without realising that maybe there _never_ was any 'sanity') when he saw it: a grove of those brittle white trees, thick and sheltered from outside viewers. He could smell the hollows' reiatsu, a few of them weak, a menos or two and an extremely low-ranked arrancar, which, strangely enough, didn't seem to be attacking the others. He'd have to try sating himself on that. Anyways, there was always more prey somewhere out there, on the endless sands of Hueco Mundo.

A feral grin stretched on his lips as he thought of the nearby prey. With all the restraints Aizen-sama had placed upon them, ordering them to not kill any Adjuchas or stronger (not to talk about the rules regarding medium-ranked arrancar), it was hard to get anything remotely near to a decent meal. He had plenty enough reiatsu to pass around, but sometimes he just wanted the thrill of the kill: the desperate yells and pleads for mercy, the bones breaking and grinding against each other with every movement, the skull cracking and jutting out at strange angles, and the blood, the torrent of red blood gushing out of the wounds of his prey. Since he'd become a hollow, he'd eaten everything. The first to go, if he remembered correctly, had been his family: the mother he'd loved all his human life, his father, whom he admired more than anything else, and the little brother he'd doted upon since he was born. They'd been the perfect family, somewhat like the ones in books (that television-thingy hadn't been invented yet), until the mother he so loved killed him when he saw her with her lover. It was, contemporarily, the most painful murder he'd committed, yet one of the best. It had been the night he'd given up his frail humanity for ever and had indulged in his primal instinct: mindless killing.

Since then, he'd eaten not only to sate his power and bloodlust, but also to diminish his pain, as all hollows did. The only disadvantage of being a hollow was the perpetual feeling of emptiness that never seemed to disappear, always there, constant and nagging at the back of his mind to devour more to return whole again and to rid himself of that horrible sensation.

Not wanting to lose himself in philosophical debates in his mind, he drew closer to the prey. He could smell the terror in the air, an aroma as familiar to him as that of blood and reiatsu. He saw his victims' terrified expressions as he sent enormous waves of reiatsu crashing down on them. It seemed as if they would break under the pressure at any moment, or as if it took all their willpower and more to keep their bodily structure together.

The lesser hollows were the first to go: they were so weak he might as well have left them where they were. The Gillians were slightly more satisfactory as they seemed on an almost Adjuchas level (yet without personality), but to his dismay they didn't appear to understand what was happening, except for their outburst of poorly-aimed ceros.

But the arrancar lady, who was attempting to shunpo away, had reiatsu vaguely comparable to a Privaron Espada. His eyes glinted in bloodlust.

He caught her leg easily, and without any difficulty snapped it neatly in two. The girl howled in pain as the broken bone managed to pierce the side of her thigh, the blood pumping out of one of the main arteries in an almost hypnotic way, the dense red liquid seemingly following the rhythm of a song only he could hear in his mind. He tore off the bloody stump of a leg from her hip and then moved his hand to her stomach to disenbowl her. He pierced the girl's stomach and she screamed louder than before, making the adrenaline pump faster in his veins by default, groping around her innards before reaching under her sternum, clasping the still-beating heart on the palm of his hand.

The girl's eyes were petrified as her screams grew in intensity and volume. "Please don't, Grimmjow-sam…!"

She didn't have time to finish speaking before the azure-headed Espada tore her heart out and lapped at the blood on it.

Seems like today's meal wasn't half-bad.

XxX

When he awoke, he wasn't sure what had happened. He remembered sitting in a bathroom with a blade in his hands before… before what? He tried to remember but the only thing he could think about as he searched his memory was the stab of pain in his wrists that wracked around his entire body, the blackness, that feeling of utter despair and the sound of some liquid going down a drain as metal clinked on the stall's tiles.

And then he'd woken up here. It still seemed to be part of his school, but it must be one of the corridors he used less frequently. He'd never been to room 389, yet he was drawn to the light he saw shining behind the opaque glass for some unknown reason. His body felt heavy as he moved towards the door. Even when he'd carried enourmous backpacks for hours while hiking he'd never felt this, as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. With every step he took, his imaginary burden seemed to lessen and his breathing slowed down. He was about to reach for the doorknob when the most intense pain he'd ever felt flared through his chest.

He screamed wildly as he felt the burning sensation envelop his whole body, as if fire consumed him. His chest hurt the most, and he was now aware of a gaping hole between his pectorals. It was so wide he was surprised he was still alive. That is, if he didn't die from the pain now.

He spasmed, and luckily the ache disappeared. The world stopped rocking around and it stilled. An uncomfotable sensation made his shoulder blades itch, but he payed it little attention. He moved his hand over his face, eyes closed as he inhaled shakily. He shifted the appendage on his face and then his fingernails clinked against something hard. He tapped a nail – which had been inexistent before – over the rigid substance that covered his face, but couldn't understand exactly what it was. He gave up, and reached towards a nearby radiator to pull himself up from the cold floor.

And then he caught sight of his hand. It was thin and black, the sharpest talons he's ever seen erupting from the tips. He looked down at his body and didn't see much except a black chest with some strange green design near the hole he'd felt before. His eyes widened in horror. He raced towards the closest window, nearly crashing in a nearby trophy case. His reflection was horrible: a white mask with black and green marks covered his face, curved horns sprouting at the top of his head. His hair was at least two feet long, and his eyes weren't too visible behind he mask in the gloom, but he could make out the colors: the pupils were green, like they'd always been, but the scleras were black. But the most horrifying detail was lower: the hole he'd felt before went cleanly from front to back and there was no blood or anything else around it. He could clearly see the other side of the corridor reflected in the portion of empty space in the middle of his chest. Intricate green markings originated from the gaping wound – if it could be so called – on his black chest. The rest of his body was black as well, yet unremarkable if not for the sharp claws and talons. Leathery green wings were attached to its back, similar to the ones of dragons he'd seen in fantasy movies or in video games. He pressed the palm of his hand against the cold glass, as if trying to grasp his other self in the window.

"What… what am I?" Even his voice was different: it was slightly raspy and seemed to come from the dephts of a dark, unending, hole.

His reflection didn't answer.

A laugh fluctuated around the air from room 389. Apparently, there was more than one person there. The black haired thing – what was he? A monster? An alien? A mythical creature? – approached the door, and reached once more to the doorknob. His hand slipped through, and so did the rest of his body.

Inside, there were some people, but his attention was drawn to two of them in particular, a woman and a man, dressed somewhat shabbily. His parents. The sight before his eyes triggered the surfacing of the memories he'd forgotten, and he remembered everything: his past life flashed by his eyes, he could see himself, only as a child, teased by his classmates and abused by his parents, an older version of himself hiding in the bathroom to cry after the jocks at his school had beaten him up for being an 'gay emo freak', the people insulting him in the hallways, his parents telling him he was a useless and pathetic, a disgrace to the family, that he should die, the boy he'd secretly had a crush on shunning him and revealing his secret to the whole school…

And then, the final decision: choosing to end the pain tearing through him, he'd taken his time to say goodbye to his pet fish, to listen to his favorite music, to survey his room thoroughly before heading for that final day of torture before he put an end to it all.

That day had crept so slowly he'd wondered if somebody was playing a trick on him by prolonging the time before the end. Everytime he opened his bookbag he'd think of the razor-sharp blade at the bottom of it, waiting to be pulled out and used. He'd breathed in the crisp air of mid-January and had finally felt at peace with himself. He was going to end the pain as soon as everybody left school.

He'd sat on the cool ceramic toilet and had extracted the sharp blade from the dephts of his bag, had thought about all the things that had happened to him – the good ones making a surprisingly short list for a sixteen year-old – and had pressed the metal against his inner wrist, softly at first, moving the blade up and down, and then more harshly. The red blood looked beautiful against his deathly pale skin, and then he'd slashed the other arm as well. He'd leaned against the stall's wall as he slipped down, the pain ebbing away to leave space for delicious numbness as more and more blood gushed out of his wrists. He was truly happy to die, and he let a small smile grace his lips as the darkness took him.

He'd have thought his mother and father – however cold and uncaring they'd been – could at least pretend to be shocked of their son's suicide. But there they were, laughing and joking with the teachers afew days later, as if nothing had ever happened.

A rage he'd never experienced before tore through his body. The only thing he wanted to do was to rip them to shreds until they couldn't be found, to make them feel the same pain he'd had to stand for most of his life and which he felt now as well, in what could only be the afterlife.

The anger surged and took control of him: he ran forward with an inhuman bloodcurling yell and used his claws to slash them through. A droplet of blood landed near the jaws on his mask, and he opened his mouth to taste the red liquid. It tasted like heaven to his parched mouth.

The two humans didn't seem aware of what was happening, thogh they were bleeding and fatally wounded, and the teachers were panicking and running haywire as an unseen force tore through the two parents. The screams and the fear in the air were pure bliss to him as his jaws wrapped around his mother's head and tore it cleanly off. It tasted somewhat like chicken. His father was reserved the same treatment.

He left them there, as the impotent beings they were, their innards splattered on the floor, and walked away.

As blood dribbled down his chin, he could feel the little humanity left him disappear completely. He howled to the crescent moon outside and flew away, his strong wings supporting him.

XxX

It was so white. The sand was white. The trees were white. The moon was white. Even he was white.

Only the sky was of another color. It was the darkest black he'd ever seen, no stars glittering, the moon's light not discolouring the sky in the least. Also parts of his body were black, like the paws and the markings running around him, all the way to his tail.

His stomach grumbled in hunger. He hadn't found any hollows in three days at the least, and he needed to eat or his strenght would wane and he'd return to being a mindless Gillian. Demotion had always frightened him.

As a hollow, he'd learned quite quickly that it was eat or be eaten. A lonely life. He'd always went ahead, no matter what or how, but now, as he seemed completely alone on the cold white desert, he wondered if he'd be able to continue on his path to power or if he'd stop here.

But when he thought he'd die from hunger, he smelt a whole pack of hollows roaming the desert nearby. He licked his lips and managed to accelerate on the white sand. The hollows were actually all Adjuchas. It was his going to be a good hunt for once. Killing lesser hollows was boring. They didn't put up much of a fight and most weren't even aware of being attacked until he'd chomped on a bit of their mask. Now he could finally have a good fight.

They'd sensed him coming and had tried to emit as much reiatsu they could to scare him off. They were all rather big, at least several times himself, and when they saw he didn't desist with the reiatsu trick, the biggest one tried to crush him under his foot. He dodged quickly to the side, kicking off from the sand to break a piece of its mask at the edge of the face, and then propelled himself from the other Adjuchas' mask to another hollow.

He'd eaten almost all of them when the last one, maimed and too tired to escape, questioned him in a terrified voice, something a hollow shoudn't ever use. They were creatures born from fear, and they governed it, instilled it in the hearts of those weak humans.

"W-who are you?"

His jaw twisted in a feral grin. "Me? I'm the King."

He leapt forward and the Adjuchas was no more.

XxX

For the second time of his second life, it was black again. His face hurt all over but he felt the strenght he'd been promised pumping through his veins. After what felt like ages, he managed to crack open his eyes in the gloom. He felt different. His whole body was white, there was no black limiting the view of his pale skin. His mask was gone, only a horn and part of the side remaining on his head. There was a sword on the floor, _his_ sword, not unlike the ones he'd seen shinigami with. It was aquamarine and the guard was made of intricate silver designs. Distracting himself from the sword, he gazed around the room, half-cautious and half-curious. The room, mostly white as well, was filled with humanoid hollows. Some of them sneered at him, others ignored him and others seemed to almost fear him. None of their masks were complete. They were arrancar, the broken masks.

He'd joined them mainly to gain the power they wielded, but also for his incomparable admiration towards their leader, who, even if shinigami, was so powerful even the strongest Vasto Lorde were crushed by his reiatsu. He was like the moon: cold and detached, but, more importantly, he could be compared to that sliver of an orb shining on the desert because he was venerated by any hollow in the same way they honoured the moon, always watching and ever-present.

And Aizen Sousuke, God, spoke. His voice was smooth and polite, his demanour both bored and amused at the same time.

"Welcome to Las Noches, the palace of empty nights. You haven't told us your name yet, brother."

He raised his head slightly to face his new lord. "Ulquiorra Schiffer."

"Very well. With your strenght, which you have proven before to me, you are now the Cuarta Espada. I will summon you to speak about your first mission soon. You may go retire to your rooms for the moment."

Aizen-sama's expression hardened and his reiatsu escalated, and Ulquiorra shunpoed away with what could only be the rest of the Espada.

He wished he'd see the moon soon again.

XxX

He'd gotten used to life in Las Noches rather quickly. The days seemed to all blend into each other as he always repeated the same routine: wake up, eat, attend meetings, eat, sleep, annoy someone (better if Ulquiorra), eat and sleep again, and then repeat.

There was nothing to break the monotony except the occasional surge of rage towards Aizen or some minor brawls with the other Espada and lower-ranked arrancar, and after a while, even those fell into the pattern of his days. Things were getting so goddamn boring.

He almost missed his hollow days. Everything had been easier then. The only thing that hadn't changed was the terrible loneliness that kept creeping back into his heart when he was alone or when he wasn't killing something. There were moments in which he would like to just let go, but then his other side – the one born out of pure instinct and raw power – would tell him to get a grip and destroy everything.

It was such a lonely life. He was so fucking sick of it all.

Always alone, always killing, always fending for oneself. Most importantly, always alone. With the killing, with the hunger, with the primalness of it all he could deal with, it was his element, his favorite thing after all, but that tearing emptiness in him sometimes was too much to bear. The last scrap of affection and warmth he'd received was when he was still human – something he would like to be but despised at the same time – but even that memory was confused and muddled with all the others of the hollows he'd devoured. It felt like being one but many.

A bitter bark of laughter passed his lips.

_So that's what God feels like._

XxX

Ulquiorra really pissed him off. He'd estabilished it the second the other Espada had talked to him – when he'd first seen the Cuarta he couldn't help marveling at a creature so powerful yet frail-looking. He'd always been annoyed by him: he seemed to not have the will to fight, but what really set him off was his emotionlessness. Grimmjow, by nature, was made of pure instinct and volatile emotions, never controlled, acting always by impulse.

Ulquiorra, instead, was his complete opposite. He was somber and contained, unchanging. They differed also in looks: Grimmjow was tanned, muscled, his hair of what they called in the human world 'an outrageous shade', while the Cuarta was pale, lithe, with standard black Japanese-ish hair. They were probably the the most different couple in the Espada – excluding all the dissimiliarities one could find between Aaroniero (a weird monster-thingy), Halibel (the only woman) or Barragan (an old-as-hell geezer with a massive god-complex) and the rest of them.

Yet, he was curious about Ulquiorra. How strong was he really? What did his Resurrection look like? And, though it was a too frivolous question for Grimmjow, what did the other Espada do in his free time?

His hollow side of him had also suggested multiple times that he should just kill him somehow to keep the annoying questions at bay. It had seemed a reasonable idea, but he'd resolved against it when he saw another arrancar's skull become a smudge on the wall in a fraction of a second. He'd just have to get stronger. And then he'd kick Ulquiorra's pale ass.

And that formed another chain of thought he _really_ didn't need.

But, as he was hollow, every tipe of 'negative' – by the point of view of many a conceited idiot – emotion, like bloodlust, anger, lust, was amplified beyond recognition.

Shit. He needed sleep or he'd go crazy.

He lowered himself on the white bed, and with his forearm covering his eyes, he fell asleep.

XxX

It was cold. It was always cold in his room, but he never felt it. It was like living in a different reality, separated from true sensations and feelings.

It was like being separated from everybody else by an unending chasm.

He'd always been amazed by it, but even he felt alone. Sometimes he wished that someone would help him, save him from his misery, but he'd quickly repress that feeling and continue in his solitude. He didn't want to need help like some child clinging to its mother. Yet his heart burned for some kind of affection.

Lately, he hadn't been able to focus. Except on one thing, ergo, the idiot, Grimmjow.

How he'd began to think of the Sexta was unknown to him. He'd just gone to the human world, and passing near one of those 'stores', he'd seen a blue top – for women, no less – in a bright shade of cerulean. Like that piece of trash's hair. And things just snowballed down from there.

He didn't really know why, but he was far more interesting than the rest of the trash that inhabited Las Noches. For example, when he'd first seen him, he'd felt something like a jolt. Purely a conjecture of his mind, but he'd felt it anyway.

Was this what they called 'love at first sight' in the human world? That petty, useless presumption that was inexistent. But if it was just an invention of the human mind, then why had he felt it?

Did he have a heart? Was this the type of feeling one experienced with it?

All these questions had churned his head for days, months, maybe years… not many people kept track of the passing of human time in Las Noches, and he wasn't one that did. He had no interest in the changing of seasons humans had estabilished in the material world. Hueco Mundo was always the same, whatever period of the year it was for mortals.

And now, roughly 15 years since Grimmjow's promotion to Sexta – and about 25 since their first encounter – he was intoxicated by the brash blue-haired man. He'd started picking on him more, somewhat for amusement, somewhat just to see that intense expression of rage on the other arrancar's face. And Grimmjow seemed none the wiser to his childish attempts to gain his attention. Would he ever be noticed or would he remain the Sexta's antagonist for ever?

Turning away from the window, he snarled quietly.

He hated it. He hated how the other could make him feel like this. He hated how he could actually make him _feel_ at all.

So he hated the source of the problem. He tried to imbibe the hate he felt in his heart – if there was one – and cursed Grimmjow into oblivion.

XxX

_Their tongues contorted in a passioned frenzy. His hands, threaded in that silky hair, moved down to roam over that thin body. He relished as his partner moaned in his mouth as he brushed over a nipple. They parted languidly, trying to prolong the kiss, but finally detached themselves from one another as air became scarce. His mouth trailed kisses and harsh nips down Ulquiorra's neck and torso, and as he reached the other's boxers – why had he put them on? They were just in the way – and tugged them down in a single motion. Unexpectedly, the Cuarta's cheeks blushed a light pink as Grimmjow took in the sight of him fully naked. He snickered and leaned down, giving Ulquiorra's erection a long, slow lick. The thin hands of his lover threaded in his hair, tugging, as he moaned even harder when his cock was engulfed in the Sexta's mouth. He sucked on it as Ulquiorra's moans intensified and escalated in volume. He'd be surprised if at least the whole eastern wing hadn't heard him. Not that he minded. He smirked. After all, he was _that_ good._

_Before the Cuarta could come – he felt his balls tightening – he pulled away, his lover emitting a low whine, and he slowly traced a thin line of saliva towards his hole. He licked that too, giving Ulquiorra three fingers to suck on before plunging his tongue into the other. The pale man stopped laving at the fingers offered to him, moaning once more, but then took the three appendages back into his mouth as he got used to the sensation._

_Grimmjow pulled back out and brought himself up to kiss the man under him as he slipped one of the moist digits in Ulquiorra's asshole. He shifted at the slight pain, but made no noise other than moans as he stroked his cock. When he was prepared, he slowly slid forward. He desperately wanted to be inside him, but seeing the pained expression on the Cuarta's face he tried his best to slow down. Just one more thrust and…_

And he woke up. Horny. Hot. And annoyed. Why the hell did he have to wake up so soon?

After a significantly long 'shower', he realized there was actually a meeting. Now.

Shit. How the fuck was he supposed to face Ulquiorra after his wet dream?

Repressing his embarassment, he started to work on the more important task at hand: finding his clothes. Since he'd splattered the maid on the wall, service had been getting worse. Not that it was anything particularly significant, but he'd notice the occasional speck of dust, the bathtub that wasn't _quite_ so clean, and so on.

And now, his uniform was nowhere to be seen. He dug up all sorts of things from various drawers, all the while cursing the maids who didn't do their service properly, but managed to find his clothes. Those fucking idiots had hid them under the bed. Oh well. He'd find a few hundred ways to kill them painfully during the meeting. It was only supposed to be the presentation of the new Tenth Espada after all. Nothing too taxing.

He shunpoed the fastest he could to the meeting room. Why the hell was it on the other side of the palace? Whoever had designed the stupid place was an idiot. But it had probably been Aizen-sama. Oh well. 'Idiot' suited him.

When he entered the meeting room, all the other Espada were seated and had received their tea cups. Where that man's obsession for the hot drink came from, Grimmjow didn't know. He'd probably picked it up in Soul Society. Tch. Not that he cared, anyway.

"I feared you would be late, Grimmjow. Please seat yourself."

Grimmjow had to abstain from snarling. He could practically feel the sneer in his voice, the contempt that seeped through. He hated it. How could his Ulquiorra stand it?

He sat down on the white chair as Aizen started babbling on aout random crap. Everyone knew he never payed attentions during these things, so why should he let them down just now? Especially his Ulquiorra.

Wait.

A.

Fucking.

Second.

What the fuck was wrong with him? _His_ Ulquiorra? But wait – he'd referred to him in the same way before. Had he become a hormonal high-school girl or something? Dammit! He was supposed to be an arrancar, a ruthess killer that destroyed everything on its path, not some lovesick puppy!

Yet… the thought of him and Ulquiorra together, as a couple… – not that this night's (or early morning's) dream was helping at all.

As he thought things over, going from hysterical to calm and collected – his theory was that, if nobody knew, nothing could possibly happen – he lost track of time and before he was even aware of what was happening, the meeting was over. But more importantly, he didn't notice a certain Cuarta's covert looks in his direction. Something that the lord of Las Noches didn't miss.

Aizen was making his usual oh-so-cool-exit by ascending the stairs when he turned and spoke to Grimmjow.

"I wish you luck with your endeavor, Grimmjow. I have nothing against it." And with a knowing smirk and a sweep of his robe, he was gone, leaving a puzzled Sexta and a positively baffled Cuarta.

Only one thought ran through Ulquiorra's mind.

_What could Grimmjow be possibly planning?_

XxX

It had been a while since he'd been on Hueco Mundo's desert. Since he'd become an arrancar, he'd always stayed in Las Noches, except when he'd been sent on a mission by Aizen-sama. There was no other reason to venture outside. Yet, for some reason, here he was, staring at the moon, alone on the white sand. The moon was perfectly visible from the palace, but it felt completely different to observe it from here. It was like returning to his hollow days.

And than the silence was broken by the sound of sand swishing. Someone was shunpoing towards him, and judging by the reiatsu, it was Grimmjow. Ulquiorra had no idea of why the Sexta was here. It was as if he'd been following him. Could those recent stares from Grimmjow be the reason?

He gave a slight, but polite, nod of the head as the other Espada halted in front of him, acknowledging his presence.

For a few moments they remained like that, facing each other and unmoving.

None of the two moved, each staring the other. The Cuarta could hear his heart beating erratically in his chest, but he managed to control himself from jumping the idiot. Deciding that it was better if the other Espada got out of his way, Ulquiorra was about to tell that piece of trash – that attractive piece of trash, a part of his mind suggested – to go away or get ceroed out of his sight when Grimmjow leapt forward. Taken a bit by surprise, Ulquiorra couldn't react before he was pushed to the ground and pinned under the Sexta. The other's attempts to fight were useless: he'd never win. But it didn't seem that Grimmjow wanted to fight.

The Cuarta arched an eyebrow, the epitome of composure even when cornered on the sand.

"What exactly are you trying to do? You'll never win anyway."

Grimmjow stared at him for a minute or so, and then burst out laughing. "You wouldn't realize if it bit your ass, wouldn't you? I mean, are you fucking serious?"

"Of course I am, trash."

He laughed again. The Cuarta couldn't find anything vaguely amusing in their dialogue. So why was he laughing? He certainly hadn't 'cracked a joke' (if that was the correct terminology), and couldn't fathom exactly why Grimmjow was laughing without any apparent reson.

"I'm seducing you, idiot."

Ulquiorra's eyes widened slightly but didn't have time to retort as the Sexta's lips crashed down on his ferociously, prying them apart with ease and slipping his tongue into the Cuarta's mouth, who moaned appreciatively. He never thought a kiss could possibly feel this good. Not that he'd know.

As his lungs started bursting for air, Grimmjow's lips unlatched themselves from the other's, only to join his pale neck instants later, sucking and biting at the sensitive flesh. Ulquiorra was sure there'd be a mark, but he felt too aroused by now to care. He knew his white skin had darkened to a lighter pink, because Grimmjow was smirking against his neck in triumph before biting down possessively and Ulquiorra felt more blood rushing to his face as his top was torn open, and then flung somewhere in the distance.

Grin widening, the Sexta licked around his left nipple, circling it with his tongue before sucking on it harshly, his fingernails raking down his chest, drawing blood, yet making him moan at the feralness of it all. He was surely bleeding in at least ten places, but the pain felt strangely wonderful on his skin.

His sandals were taken off quickly as Grimmjow's hands moved back up his legs – paying some fleeting attention to his straining crotch by ghosting his fingers over it – before pulling both his hakama and underwear down, exposing Ulquiorra's naked form to the cold desert air.

It was, at the same time, both completely natural and terribly embarassing to be held under the other arrancar's scrutiny.

"Got a problem down there, don't you?". Grimmjow tapped his erection, making yet another moan bubble from the Cuarta's mouth.

Grimmjow smirked again before throwing his clothes off as well, the other barely having time to observe his nudity as his lips were claimed in a heated kiss. The Sexta's hands were roaming all over his body, eliciting mewls of pleasure from Ulquiorra, before finally straying towards his nether regions and his ass.

Their lips detatched and Grimmjow started slowly pumping the Cuarta, while offering him three fingers to suck on.

Just as Ulquiorra was nearing his climax, the Sexta withdrew both his hands, ignoring the soft whine of protest at the loss of contact.

His legs were pried apart and a finger prodded his hole. He was given a meaningful stare by the blue haired man. There was no need for words: their exchanged gazes said everything without any need for explanation. After this, there was no going back.

Ulquiorra nodded slowly, the finger entering him and slowly stretching his hole, searching. Another digit was added, and a burn slowly started to build up in his lower back, but it didn't matter. Grimmjow's fingers curved downward and the Cuarta's back arched in pleasure as he moaned for the upteenth time that night.

"Found it."

Grimmjow eased another finger in, Ulquiorra wincing as pain coursed through his body, which was soon interrupted as the Sexta pressed against his prostate again.

Deeming him ready enough, Grimmjow removed his fingers and spat on his hands to lubricate his cock, as much as he disliked having to do it. Ulquiorra's legs were hoisted around the other's waist an he guided himself to the Cuarta's entrance.

Grimmjow seated himself inside the black-haired arrancar with a single thrust, but the other didn't outwardly show any signs of pain. Ulquiorra wrapped his arms around the Sexta's neck, who'd stopped moving, panting softly at the pressure around his erection.

Ulquiorra, puzzled by his stillness, couldn't help but question him.

"Who told you to stop?"

Grimmjow smirked again. "Fine. Just don't bitch if it hurts."

The Cuarta's breath hitched as the other withdrew quickly from him, then slamming back inside, hitting his prostate dead-on. Moans quickly filled the air as their pace quickened, both of them striving for release.

As they both approached climax, Ulquiorra's shaft was pumped roughly before he came moaning Grimmjow's name, the other grunting before ejaculating into the Cuarta.

They remained still for a few instants, regaining their ragged breath, and then Grimmjow pulled out, slinging an arm around Ulquiorra's chest as he plopped down on the sand next to the other arrancar.

Ulquiorra stared up at the white moon illuminating them under the pitch-black sky.

His loneliness had disappeared as he lay exhausted in Grimmjow's arms. He wanted to make that embrace on the desert sand last forever.

XxX

**AN: yes, I know I've had too much candy. This is really way too fluffy. But still, it's nice. **

**I'll be adding more chapters like this that explain the stories of some other people, like Halibel and Urahara for sure. **

**And for who is wondering how Ulqui became a hollow in so little time (generally it takes months/years), the answer is simple, yet weird: he had an enormous reiatsu even before his death, so the hollowification progress (I'm calling it this because nothing else can come to my mind) speeded up. A lot. This is also why he looks more humanoid than other low-level hollows.**

**I apologize for the huge amount of time it took me to write this. *bows head as readers get ready to beat her up*. **

**And don't worry, the next chapter will continue with the main storyline! After all, these are just side-plots (yet we all know the smex was needed!)**


	5. Chapter 5: UltimatumOne

**Chapter 5**

**Ultimatum/One**

_"I have an order for you, Stark. Defend Kurosaki Ichigo at all times, no matter what the cost. I want you to guard him constantly, except when he's in my presence or other Espada's. Furthermore, allow him to confide in you if he wishes. It is of the utmost importance."_

_Stark bowed in front of the throne, his forehead nearly grazing the ground._

_"Yes, Aizen-sama. I will abide your wish."_

XxX

"Why the fuck should I do this? It's boring."

Aizen sighed. Why did the boy have to be such a problem? Wasn't he supposed to have overcome his infantilism?

"Ichigo-kun, do not use foul language in my presence. I will punish you next time something of the sort occurs." Sensing the threat, the boy cast him a wary gaze. "And this training is not purposeless. It will aid your ability to communicate with your sword, which, though advanced, just isn't enough to master it. You will need to learn more attacks, both in Shikai and in Bankai, and, if your Zanpakutou has any, some shields or other difensive structures. You need to achieve the highest level of power possible to you, or I will leave you here when we create the O-ken in Soul Society."

The orange haired teen's eyes widened and he spluttered incoherently for a few instants, and finally managed to form an understandable sentence.

"B-but you can't do that! You'd be betraying our pact! It isn't fair!" His face was an adorable shade of light pink from all his agitation.

Aizen smirked. "You're right. If I can't make you stay on the sidelines, I'll just not let you train for the battle."

Ichigo huffed and pouted, but the soon-to-be-God didn't budge, so the Substitute Shinigami had to agree. Not that Aizen would let him win just because of his adorable pouty face.

"Fine, fine, I'll do it. Stop nagging."

A significant gaze went his way. He gulped slightly and averted his eyes, mumbling.

"Sorry."

"Very well. Clear your mind from everything and hold your sword in your palms. Relax and slip into your inner world…". He lowered his voice until it became a whisper, the boy's eyes closing and his facial muscles distending.

All his other muscles slowly relaxed and Aizen slowly lowered the boy down on the floor, arranging his limbs in a comfortable position.

He motioned the arrancar maid standing near the door to bring over an armchair, and he sat down, observing Ichigo's prone form on the floor as he took a sip of tea he'd been offered.

It had all gone according to plan. When he'd first started monitoring him, from the moment he came out from his mother's womb, he'd been sure that with the right manipulation the boy would be an important asset to him. And he'd thought right. The boy was powerful, and he, Aizen, had managed to turn him away from Soul Society. After all, most people did so after they saw the true side of the organization.

Though he may be incredibly calculative, manipulative and a master at acting and concealing his emotions, he wasn't the only one to do so. Seireitei would often lead on the shinigami by making them believe in false ideals of justice and could easily push the blame on others, like for Urahara's exhilation – something that had been necessary, yet still not too pleasant. It had been only matter of time before the teen laying on the floor in front of him realized where his true potential could be unlocked.

Even if he'd assumed it to be inevitable once he was imprisoned, the murder of his friends was strangely suspicious. Generally, the Soutaicho's style was to kill everyone involved, with no exceptions. And after their souls had departed the real world, there had been no formal execution for them, not even a surprise incursion from the Onmitsukidou, according to what his spies had referred to him.

His trademark smirk curved more than usual.

All the pieces of the puzzle were slowly falling in place, exactly as he'd intended them to.

And maybe, for his own sake, it was best if Ichigo continued living a lie for a little more.

XxX

Expecting to see the usual clouded blue sky, Ichigo opened his eyes, but was met with flat black. Even the upside-down buildings were of the same shade. The only touch of color was a red moon. The landscape, though not desertic, reminded him of Hueco Mundo, or rather, it was almost identical. Though there didn't appear to be any light, Ichigo could make out the building's ridges and windows, but nothing else except that and the moon hanging in the sky. The air was still and he could hear no sound apart from the swish of his clothing and the noise his sandals made as he turned around to inspect his surroundings.

"I know why you are here, Ichigo. Answer my question and I'll help you."

The voice came from the depths of the blackness somewhere behind the vizard. It was the voice he hadn't thought he'd hear again.

Tensa Zangetsu.

He didn't know him as well as the Shikai side of his sword, hell, he probably liked the Old Man better, but hearing again from a figment of his soul was comforting.

"Tensa? Where are you?"

His eyes searched the darkness but found nothing.

Breath ghosted on his face for a split second before disappearing. "Me? I'm right here, Ichigo.". The voice came from near his ear.

"It's been a while, hasn't it? I'm happy to see – I mean, meet you again… I didn't think I would."

Silence enveloped them as soon as Ichigo stopped talking.

The vizard had never been much of an ice breaker, but the atmosphere was so thick that he took matters into his hands and began conversing again.

"So, um… why's it so black around here?" He knew it was probably on of the crappiest things he'd ever said, but it didn't really matter.

"Because you have sustained a great loss. And because you have changed sides. But enough small talk. Answer my question or I won't give you access to my power any more."

Ichigo's face contorted in surprise for a moment. His Zanpakutou had never been quite so…demanding? Strange? Random? But he schooled his expression and calmed himself anyways.

"Go on."

"Why are you following Aizen Sousuke?"

Ichigo gave a small laugh. "I thought you were a part of my mind. Shouldn't you know everything that goes on?"

"Just answer the question. My patience is running thin."

Ichigo, though slightly taken aback by his Zanpakutou's insistence, answered immediately. "To avenge my friends. To be stronger for them. To make Soul Society pay for what they did."

Ichigo couldn't see his face, but he had the feeling Tensa was scrutinizing him from the shadows with a pensive frown on his face.

"Wrong. That isn't all. There are other reasons. Stay here and think about it." The Zanpakutou was silent for a few moments, but then continued. "If you don't realize in the next 23 hours and 14 minutes I'll destroy your inner world, leaving you no reiatsu, without chance to regain your power. Give me the true reson, and I'll aid you."

Tensa Zangetsu slowly disappeared in the darkness in a flurry of red reishi, and Ichigo was left alone again in the stifling silence.

XxX

No matter how long Ichigo racked his brains for the 'real' answer, nothing apart from the one he'd already said would come to his mind. He tried to concentrate but he couldn't. His mind would run in circles and he culdn't conclude anything. It was frustrating. He tried to shift positions while thinking, but that only got him uncomforatable and his thinking capability was diminished.

He was uncertain if he should persevere and fail – hopefully not – or give up now. He knew it was ridiculous to even _think_ about giving up, since Aizen would probably get pissed if he didn't honour their deal. Ichigo let his mind go blank, trying to get an answer in any way possible.

He'd just managed to relax when a hand clamped down on his shoulder and pulled him down, inside the building.

If the outside was the darkest black, the room – or rather space, as there was only ceiling and floor visible, if barely – was blindingly white. It felt as if he was underwater. And he realized that he was floating in an unknown liquid. Baffled and puzzled – he could still breathe, even if underwater –, he turned around to observe his surroundings, and nearly smacked his face against a familiar figure's one, namely, Shirosaki. He stared at his hollow side dumbfoundedly for some time before he was smacked on the head by the other, bored of their staring match.

"OW! Why the fuck did you do that, dumbass!"

A shit-eating grin plastered itself on the hollow's face.

"Ya've really gotten weak, huh, King? Didn't think you'd be such a wimp. 'Specially with Tensa over there. 'N I thougth you'd gotten some balls last time we fought. _Anybody_ could find the real reason. If they have more brains than you, that is."

A lightbulb flicked over Ichigo's head as he ignored the insult.

"Could you help me? I mean, I know we haven't really gotten, um… along in the past but could you just help me this once?"

Hichigo stared at him for a while.

"No. I won't help you." Ichigo was crestfallen. His only hope had gone down the drain.

Hichigo grinned psychotically. "I'll just stimulate your thinking process."

Ichigo's head shot up in surprise, but his brow was furrowed. "I don't get it. You always tried to destroy me, why are you helping me now?"

His hollow side snorted. "Idiot. If your inner world is destroyed, it's not like I'm gonna be 'round anymore. So I'll help ya. And then I'll kick ya off your throne, _King_."

XxX

Aizen held the cup of tea to his lips for about the thousandth time during the past hour. He'd had to bind the thrashing teen to the bed, as he'd started convulsing, yelling and emitting enormous bursts of reiatsu at irregular intervals since he entered his inner world. Aizen knew it was a security measure, but he almost regretted binding him like that. Moreover, on a bed.

He'd always been proud of his self-control, but now the urge to deflower the senseless boy on the bed was overwhelming. Ichigo's skin was coated in a fine sheen of sweat, his cheast heaving, his lips parted and moist. Positively debauched. It took all his self-restraint to not take advantage of him in that position. His hakama felt quite too tight, and he poured himself the upteenth cup of tea, trying to compose himself. The way Ichigo could get to him was amazing: he'd never been affected this strongly by anyone else. It was rather unpleasant, yet enticing all the same, and Aizen never failed to be amused by this fact. Just the way the boy could get to him made him all the more alluring. Combined with his beautiful looks and mouthwatering power, the boy was irresistible to Aizen.

To lesser men, it might appear strange that Aizen was aroused by power: it was an uncommon and peculiar desire. Instead, he loved the feeling of reiatsu caressing his skin, and great amounts – by his standards – could be a near-orgasmic experience. It was something like a closet perversion – most never expected him to be so strongly attracted to power, though some of the more intelligent ants had understood he greatly appreciated it. But, after all, it was always hard to _exactly_ figure him out. He'd managed to hide his true personality so deeply that the one he showed to his subordinates and enemies was still somewhat different from his true character.

Yet, Ichigo could still understand things about him that no one else would – the dregs of their conversation fluctuated in his mind, like the way the teen was always slightly guarded against him, fully realizing that everything he'd been told by the traitor shinigami could be a lie. He also managed to predict – to some extent, at least – his next moves in the sparring matches they'd had. The boy, was, after all, a wonder. Had he attended the Shinigamy Academy he'd have been considered a genius, much like Gin and Hitsugaya-kun.

He approached the bed cautiously, not wanting to rouse Ichigo from his slumber. He might be completely immersed in his inner world, but he didn't want to risk anything. If the teen failed now, he wouldn't have another chance to get the closest possible with his Zanpakutou. At the moment, it was essential that he mastered this, for the future battle. He could easily beat the Gotei 13 with his previous abilities, but defeating the Rei-O and Squad 0 would prove a bit more challenging.

Aizen brushed away a few sweaty strands of orange hair from Ichigo's flushed face. The boy's facial muscles twitched slightly, but he showed no other signs of receptivity. He was probably too absorbed with the events unfolding in his inner world.

Concentrating slightly, Aizen forced the barrier of his mind to become lax and give away. His consciousness slowly expanded to the rest of the room and, with an extra push, managed to break through Ichigo's mental barrier. His defence was many times stronger than the ones of most of his adversaries, but, like with all the others, he breached his way into Ichigo's mind.

The images were indistinct for some time, but sounds, feelings and sensations were transmitted suddenly and intensely into his own mind. It was somewhat like being surprised by an unexpected gust of wind.

Slowly, the pictures came into focus, revealing buildings shrouded in darkness and a red moon. Ichigo was twisting and turning about, trying to find a solution for his dilemma. He emitted a low rumble of reiatsu, feeling the teen's inner hollow awaken. He slowly slipped away from the other's mind, mission completed, and slowly returned to reality. This process was usually more difficult than entering one's mind, as the person would try to keep the trespassor's conscience within his own.

Opening his eyes and blinking slightly at the light of the room, he returned to observing Ichigo's sweating face. His brow was more corrugated than before, and he was sweating more profusely by the minute. After calling for an arrancar maid, who brought some small towels and a basin of water to cool down the sweating teen, he bid her to leave the room and wetted the towels provided and slowly dampened the sweated skin. He parted Ichigo's kosode and repeated the process, and then he dried him. Running his hands over the smooth musles of his chest, he noticed that the teen's breathing started slowing down, and his face distended into a slightly more relaxed expression.

His lips, though, were still parted and oh-so-pink. That boy could tempt him like no other.

And the lord of Las Noches got about the biggest shock of his life when Ichigo started talking in his 'sleep'.

"Ai…zen…"

Caution thrown to the winds, he slowly bent down and kissed the vizard. It was more of a quick peck, as to not rouse him, but Aizen couldn't resist a taste of the forbidden fruit and slowly licked over the boy's lips, memorizing the exact taste.

Though it was just a stolen kiss, Aizen felt satisfaction bubble inside him. The fact that Ichigo had been calling out his name just made him feel all the better. And of course, it just made the bulge in his pants much worse.

He was using the bathroom a bit too much lately.

XxX

Sated – but not exactly as he wanted it – Aizen settled once again on his chair, not trusting his self-restraint if he were to get closer that this to the teen. He lighted a few sticks of incense – he was sustaining quite too much stress lately – and resumed drinking his tea.

Ichigo's back arched – and Aizen could only picture it doing so in pleasure – and his body began contorting itself, the kido bindings giving away, his junctures forming odd angles as he twisted on the bed. The boy's reiatsu was out of control, bursting around the surrounding area, spiking, dying down and then suddenly returning with many times the initial amount.

Aizen observed the scene, calmly, gaze never wavering and his posture unmoving. After all, the process in itself wasn't hardly painful at all, and Ichigo would surely endure it.

The teen's body spasmed once more before lying still spreadeagledly. His breathing steadied and a few seconds later he sat up with a jolt, eyes open wide and his face sey in a panicked expression.

"W-what? Where –"

Aizen's eyes gleamed maliciously.

"Welcome back to reality, Ichigo-kun."

Ichigo's eyes snapped to Aizen's, and he sighed in relief. He was still panting harshly, his breathing labored as he clutched his chest in panic, trying to calm himself.

"H-how long was I unconscious for?"

"Twelve hours."

Ichigo's hand ran through his dishiveled hair, the palm covering his right eye.

His lips barely moved, and his voice came out as a hoarse whisper.

"Why… why didn't you help me get them back?…"

Aizen mentally sighed. It seemed the boy had used his head a bit for once.

Yet, he feigned ignorance.

For the boy's sake, of course.

"I'm not sure of who you are referring to, Ichigo-kun."

Reiatsu crackled ominuously in the air, and the orange-haired vizard slammed both hands onto the mattress, the vibrations breaking the wooden base underneath.

"You know too goddamn well who I'm talking about, Aizen!"

"I think I've already told you, not too long ago, to not utter profanity in my presence. And I still haven't understood whom you are referring to."

Ichigo gave a low growl, and, eyes downcast, jumped off the bed and stomped towards Aizen in a rage. He gripped the front of his robes, exasperated and near-psychotic as he hollered his anger towards the lord of Las Noches.

His face, the face with those perfect lips he'd kissed not long ago, was almost too close for Aizen's liking.

"My friends! I'm talking about my friend! You knew _perfectly_ well that once dead, they'd have another chance at living, in Soul Society! Yet you never told me nor moved a finger to rescue them! Why?…"

As Ichigo finished talking, his voice waned and he erupted into broken sobs, still clutching the front of Aizen's robes. The boy really did love to tempt him.

Snaking an arm around his back, bringing him closer to his chest, Aizen patted his head, trying to comfort the trembling teen. This was certainly not his forte, but Ichigo seemed to calm down a bit.

"Actually, Ichigo-kun, I have had spies inform me of all that happens within Soul Society and, of course, Seireitei. There has been no formal execution for any of them, and the Onmitsukidou haven't planned any incursions to eliminate them. They were never catalogued in Soul Society's records of the new arrivals."

Aizen could practically feel the despair coiling in Ichigo's stomach, yet, he didn't seem completely hopeless.

"Maybe… they're still trapped on earth, wandering… trying to move on…"

Aizen's views weren't as optimistic.

"Ichigo-kun, we both know the Gotei 13 isn't particularly attentive with planning its moves, but even they couldn't commit an error so grave. I don't know what happened to your friends, but I know they aren't in the Material World for sure anymore. You can still gain the revenge you want, though, Ichigo-kun. You can still make them pay."

Honeyed words to illude him.

Should he know the truth, he wouldn't be so content now.

XxX

He could feel it.

He knew that there was more under those persuasive words of deceit. He could feel the lies, faintly creeping under the words so seductively he couldn't help but listen, trying at the same time to glean the truth from those treacherous words and be reassured by the honeyed lies.

But what choice did he have? If he didn't believe this man, what could he pin his hopes to?

The man's embrace, though not too tight, was comforting. The heat emanated from Aizen's broad chest reminded him of his mother's soft, loving hugs – yet this was incredibly different. There seemed to be some sort of longing in his touch, like the one his father expressed in the rare occasions he managed to hug his depressed son, trying to make him feel better and overcome the shock. At first, when his father had began hugging his son, trying to cheer him up or get some fight back into his body, Ichigo had been completely insensible to whatever feelings were being conveyed, but with time he'd began to be somewhat aware of what emotion the embrace 'felt' like.

And this one felt like longing.

Ichigo didn't have any clue about Aizen's desires. Not that he'd really be able to discern what the man was thinking: he never knew what to exactly expect when it came to Aizen – he wasn't too good at guessing at other's feelings anyways.

He knew he cared – somehow – for the lord of Las Noches anyhow.

He chose to live in ignorance for a while more.

XxX

A rumble of reiatsu went through the King's inner world. Of course, it wasn't his, but Aizen's.

Tch. He should learn to mind his own goddamn business every once and a while. I would've helped him anyways, even without that man's 'suggestion'. He was an idiot if he thought, even for a second, that I would oppose my King. At least for now.

So I pulled him down into my part of his world. He seemed quite bewildered at seeing me, keeping a protective stance – as much as he can manage while floating in the memory-liquid. As if I'd attack him in this situation.

Though I care for him in some way (and I'm seriously doubting my sanity at this point), Ichigo is _thick_. It took him a good five minutes to process the fact that I'm not going to attack him – not to talk about when he realized that maybe I could help him.

And so here I am, trying to get my point across to a thick-headed idiot that can't realize his own feelings.

"Uhm… so why exactly should I let myself be unconscious here in this watery liquid?" Explaining things to stupid people is always a hard task. But I think I might have gotten used with Ichigo. Not.

I have to resist the urge to facepalm.

Instead, rolling my eyes, I talk. "Ya really are dumb." His face flushes and he splutters incoherently, outraged. I go on.

"I've already told ya… let's see… 'bout _twenty times_ that I'm not attacking you? So get a grip and move yer ass. We don't have too much time ta make ya realize, and personally, I'm not up ta have my existence obliterated today."

My voice has grown uncharacteristically sombre. This is a serious matter. I might consider going to a hollow psychiatrist.

"Ichigo. Do ya know what memories are?"

He looks clueless. Tch. Can't he even answer one goddamn question?

"Huh?"

Apparently not.

"Cut the crap! It's a simple queation, not long, nor complicated, so move it and answer!"

He rolls his eyes. _He fuckin' rolls his eyes!_ It's me who should be doing the eyerolling here, not him!

"Fine, I get it!" He pouts and glares at me. It's not working. " 'Memory is the brain's ability to store, retain and recall information'. As stated in the Encyclopedia."

I can't help it: a bark of laughter passes my lips.

"Yeah, thanks fer statin' the obvious. Next time, use that head ya've got. It's not just fer show."

He sat down crosslegged, trying to not float away, brows more furrowed as he stared into space as he tries to understand what he did wrong – much like an elementary school student. Seriously, I can't believe I'm still this guy's horse. He doesn't know himself – or almost anything else – at all. Dealing with an unintrospective idiot is rather hard. But I'll keep doing it, if I can make the rain stop.

He sits there, thinking. For what feels like an hour. He's too damn slow.

I decide to put him out of his misery. He seems in pain, after all.

"Memories are part of the soul. Ya wouldn't be the same person if ya didn't remember what happened to ya."

"Oh…"

His answers are so uncreative.

"Whatever. Now close yer eyes and get in the memory-liquid. We're losin' time here."

"But… what for? I don't see the point of this."

I resist the urge to facepalm once more.

"Ya don't see the point of lots of things. Let's just say ya'll take a stroll down the memory lane. With proper nudges, of course."

Realization is suddenly painted on his features, and I think he might have arrived to illumination. But, he wouldn't look too good as a fatty Buddha. Note to self: must prevent him from doing so. I really don't feel like being part of some obese monk – especially because I'd be obese as well. Yuck.

He closes his eyes and I extricate myself from the slightly gellified liquid and reach the surface, forming a small platform of reishi to sit on.

"You'd better succeed, Ichigo. Or I'll kill ya." After all, if he doesn't kick Tensa's ass (figuratively) I'm going to cease to exist. And that sucks.

I slowly form a ball of glowing blue reiatsu – mixed in the right doses with memories – and toss it in the liquid. Its light fades for a moment, and then the memory-liquid is filled with bright blue sparks, illuminating the surrounding space with a fierce glow.

XxX

I'm almost considering to invite Tensa down here. Stirring memories around for four hours (and I'm not even halfway through) is so boring my head might fall off. It's so dull I don't think I have words to describe it.

A presence flares into existence behind me, and I don't have to turn around to know who it is.

At least it's been some sort of development. My brain was starting to die. Much like Ichigo's down there in the goo.

"And what do _you_ want?"

I swear I _know_ he's smirking. "Ah… don't pay attention to me… I just dropped by to see how things are proceeding."

"They are _proceeding_" I say in such a mocking voice I might surprise myself of how much I sound like him. Wait, I _don't_. "very well. So haul yer ass back home and leave us the fuck alone."

Again, I can positively feel him smirk. I might just wipe his face off with a good ol' Getsuga Tensho if he keeps this up.

"Now I see from where Ichigo gets his foul language. Having you as a hollow, it's not surprising." I hate the way his voice is so calm and composed. But I hate even more the urge to devour him.

"Just fuck off. You're annoying."

"Very well. Things are according to plan, anyways.". The smirk again.

Aizen's reishi subsitute dissipates in the air. Next time he implants something like that in Ichigo I'll kill him.

XxX

Ichigo closed his eyes, and the world became black as he plunged in a comatose state. The silence oppressed him, his feelings were cut off and he was losing his grip on reality.

It returned for a fraction of a second as blue light exploded against his eyelids, small, painless shocks running over his body, leaving his eyes prickling. He was itching to open them, but as Shirosaki hadn't told him what to do, he didn't want to risk anything.

Another shock, stronger than the last ones, sent his eyelids reeling. His eyes opened impossibly wide, and for a moment he expected them to be invaded by the memory-liquid, but was greeted with a scenery he'd never expectd to see again: Karakura, undestroyed, and his friends smiling, laughing and talking as they walked back home from school. Soul Society's menace seemed still far: Rukia was teasing him, as always, Tatsuki hitting him (another daily occurrence) and Orihime's hair was still pinned like she did so long ago. Chad and Ishida kept mostly to themselves, the former usually breaking off the silence only to insult him. Keigo and Mizuiro talking – well, more like Keigo talking and Mizuiro texting on his phone and ignoring him. He saw himself there as well: hair shorter, frown in place, and bag slung over his shoulder.

All of them carefree, worriless. Nothing to dampen their spirits. War, battle and sorrow seemed so far away, not even a possibility formed in their brains.

His vision was blurred, and he wished he could see them better – he never wanted to forget this. It was probably the last chance he had to see them like this._ Alive_.

He walked right behind them, listening to Orihime's mindless chatter and promises of a self-cooked meal (with lots of gagging and pale green faces, until Tatsuki – used to this sort of thing by now – intelligently steered the conversation away from the fearful topic).

Strangely, the sky seemed to darken behind him. He sped up, but the blackness moved faster than he did, and was soon swallowed in it as his friends continued walking. He let out a yell as the darkness closed over him, as he watched Rukia glance behind for a moment. Completely engulfed in the dark, he tried to resurface, towards that golden memory, his friends and happiness, but every attempt was futile. His eyes were almost forced closed, only to reopen almost immediately.

This time, he was in his parents' room. Ichigo almost had the shock of his life when he saw his mother, there, sitting on the bed with his father, hugging two small babies lovingly. He couldn't see their heads, but he knew they were Karin and Yuzu, though he had no idea of where he – or rather, his younger self – was. Turning around he saw himself, four years old, staring wide-eyed at his parents, a teddy bear tucked under his left arm. If he thought the other memory was blurry, this was almost impossible to see.

His mother's smile could have outshone the sun. "Come here, Ichigo! Say hi to your baby sisters!"

His younger self stepped forward timidly, still clutching the teddy bear, and made his way towards the bed, passing straight through Ichigo's legs, as if he were thin air.

Tentatively, the younger Ichigo held Karin and Yuzu's hands, as if afraid to break them. They both gave a happy gurgle and he giggled happily at the sound.

Tearing his eyes away from the moving scene, he gazed out of the window, listening to the happy voices of his family. His fist clenched , a stray tear running down his cheek. As he wiped it away with the back of his hand, he noticed something unusual on the roof of one of the nearby houses. Turning around for a fraction of a second, he saw himself staring at the window intently as well, fascinated by the strangely-dressed man standing on the rooftop. With his Heian Period clothes he seemed to have come straight from the Jidai Matsuri.

The younger Ichigo tugged the hem of his mother's dress, pointing to the window.

"Mommy, what's that man doing there?"

Isshin laughed and patted his head affectionately.

"We 'common mortals' can't exactly see all the things you do, oh honorable medium!"

The younger Ichigo made a pouty face. "But I don't want to be a medium! I want to be a hero, so I can save you and mommy if someone bad comes!"

His mother's laughter tinkled in the air, and the babies moved their arms around, as if trying to give their mother a pat on the cheek.

Ichigo returned too observing the mysterious konpaku standing on the rooftop. He didn't appear to be a Plus – he had no chain on his chest – and he was most definitely not a hollow or an arrancar. His face was completely obscured by a thick veil, and some sort of character was embroidered on it, but it was too distant to be seen clearly.

He tried to look at him more closely, and almost wished he hadn't.

A katana was dangling from his belt. Rage overflowed in him. He couldn't believe Soul Society had been keeping tabs on him since he was this young. Inhaling deeply to calm himself for a moment, he tried to think it over. It might have been one of Aizen's spies for all he knew, but he'd never seen an emissary of the Seireitei dressed in this manner.

Suddenly, another one appeared. As the first one turned around to talk to the other, he saw, more clearly this time, the character embroidered also on his veil. A zero.

The memory started to fade to black once more. He opposed no resistance, trying to understand what the Rei-O's guard was doing near his house.

His sight returned again, but this time every detail was more nitid than human vision and he could distinguish almost every speck of dust, the stone's grain and texture. All his other senses came back to him a few seconds later, all enhanced. His nose burned as he inhaled the acrid stench of smoke, dust and blood, and his ears perceived all noises so accurately that the clang of swords, a sound he knew so well by now, seemed completely alien to him.

He was on the Sokyoku hill, fighting with Byakuya. They dealt each other the final blow, and he saw himself collapse on the ground, exhausted and exhilarated for his victory as he was cured by Orihime.

After they left, nothing was in sight, and he couldn't see Renji being attacked by Aizen.

_One of the downsides of memory,_ he thought. _You can't see everything that happened._

As he returned to the Sokyoku all the everybody else appeared, and he saw himself fall and lay wounded on the ground. He observed the whole scene of Aizen's treason and escape unfolding in front of his eyes with more attention than he'd done, almost two years ago, when he was actually there. And this time, he didn't miss the gleam of interest in the man's eyes as he left for Hueco Mundo, before the memory faded.

In the darkness, this time, no memory emerged. For a moment, he thought something might be wrong. The silence oppressed him and no light permeated. Ichigo opened his eyes as wide as he could, but maybe his eyes were never open: nothing changed, there was no scenery, no images, no warmth, no life. He was still in the darkness, for seconds, minutes, days, years, eons, all cognition of time lost and unreachable, the blackness surrounding him the only reality. His senses were muted and stunted, and all the sensations he'd felt before seemed like some wonderful dream, a life far away that he might or might have not lived.

Suddenly, color exploded over his maybe-open eyes, and he saw. For a few moments, he was blinded by the upcoming light, but his vision returned and he could see dozens of moving pictures, _memories_, all pertaining Aizen, all falling at the same time from somewhere far higher than where he was – but there was the chance that they might have been going up instead of down –, and he could see them all at the same time. All those fragments of memory deposited near his body, accumulating like snow on trees after a blizzard during the night. And then, he didn't just experience sensations, but he was incredibly aware of every _feeling_, every emotion, every single variation of his mood. And he was angry, and at peace, exhausted, happy, hopeless, resolute, hateful, attracted, sad and indifferent all contemporarily, all at the same time. All the memory fragments deposited near him, until he was almost submerged under the sheer amount of them. The mysterious surface on which he was resting – which was made of a shiny black substance of some sort, but that greatly resembled the one Tensa Zangetsu's blade was made of – broke and gave away under that mass of feelings and sensations, and he was falling into unknown space, yelling in terror, but the memories didn't stop coming. His head was about to explode from the pressure, and his body ached and hurt all over, yet pleasantly, in some way.

And then he landed in water. A great ocean of memories, where they were the main protagonists and he was just the observer, where he was just as insignificant as a pebble on the street.

He saw many things: most of the memories fluctuating in the water were about Aizen, but he could also see strange visions of his friends, happy and sad, and things he thought he'd never experienced – decayed cadavers strangling him, stabbing him, torturing him, unknown faces haunting his dreams and plaguing every waking moment – Ichigo made a terrorised scream, and they were gone, banished to the recesses of his mind, but he could still envision them _right there_, near his face and tugging at his hair. The memories around him were now bittersweet: most featured him alone, in those months preceding the Winter War, pining after his heart's – unknown – desire, and suddenly, things became clearer, the xs in the equation were, if partially, discovered. His longing for something,_ someone_, and his interest in Aizen, his hate for the man, and the understanding that had been revealed to him after their battle, the battle that saved and destroyed his life. Warmth erupted in his chest, though he knew it wasn't love. There was desire and longing, yes, but not love. Not yet, at least. It was having finally something to believe in, something that would protect him. The man could deceive him easily, effortlessly, but Ichigo now had nowhere else to turn. The Shinigami had turned against him, and probably Renji, Rukia and the others had been either excecuted or convinced by the Seireitei of his supposed instability. His family, in hiding now, he hoped he would meet again, but they were far away and even he didn't know their precise location, besides that, he knew he'd ruin their peaceful existences if he, rogue subsitute shinigami and searched by every able person in Soul Society, intruded in their lives. Urahara had Tessai, the Shoten and his solitude and sorrow, he could not, _would_ not intrude upon that. His few remaining friends had each other, and he would have joined them gladly, but that wasn't his world. Since Rukia had offered him her powers, he'd began to detatch himself slowly, unnoticeably, from the Material World. The way his life could be influenced by the battles that occurred between Aizen and Soul Society was a proof of that. He would still keep protecting Karakura and its inhabitants, as they were still dear to him, but he'd watch it from afar, never staying and involving himself more than that, making sure that things followed their proper course, untainted by the filth and prejudice of Seireitei.

_Zangetsu, I have a reason. I have my resolution._

His eyes opened, and he could see things as they really were. He swam to the surface of the ocean, and awoke in the memory liquid, but this time on the once black, now almost back to normal, side of the world, Tensa standing on a platform with Shirosaki, a placid smile on his face.

"I knew you'd do it Ichigo. Even if _he_" Tensa jerked his head towards his hollow side "had serious doubts."

Shirosaki snickered malevolently. "Well, I would've kicked yer ass if ya failed, King. And I would've enjoyed it."

In a moment, Shirosaki was near him, psychotic grin and all. "Just remember what that Rukia said. Dead souls all go to Soul Society."

Ichigo's eyes widened, and his other half faded into the nearest shadows.

"You must go now. Until next time, Ichigo."

Tensa nodded, and his inner world disappeared. A spike of rage stabbed through his heart.

His eyes opened.

XxX

"Are ya satisfied with that, Tensa? I think he lived up to yer expectations pretty well, didn't he?". Ah, hollering. One of my favorite hobbies. Plus, it annoys him infinitely.

The ceiling cracks and breaks as Tensa makes his way towards my side of the world. Black reiatsu clings to his cloak and slowly dissipates in the air.

"Yes." He's too quiet for my tastes.

**AN: Well, I'm finally back. I'd promised myself to update in alike a week or two, but as you can see (and I'm painfully aware of it) it's been _a month_. Gomennasai. Honestly. Oh, for those who read 'Jidai Matsuri' and didn't know what it means, it's the festival of the ages, where everybody dresses up in costumes from various periods. And this time, I will update sooner. Hopefully.**


	6. Chapter 6: Echoes of a Nightmare

I'm ! Now on with the story. (I'm afraid it's not that great. At least, I don't like it)

**Chapter 6**

**Echoes of a Nightmare**

Ichigo tossed and turned around in his bed, a sheen of sweat forming all over his body. His eyes swivelled quickly from side to side under his eyelids, his heart beating erratically in his chest.

Rotten faces loomed over his figure, whispering malevolently words in a litany spoken so quietly it was undiscernable, but their voices were slowly more and more raised until he was able to distinguish something understandable.

Never forgive, never forget. Never forgive, never forget. Never forgive, never forget…

Their voices rose so much their screams could obliterate the thumping of his wildly beating heart.

Ichigo looked closer at those rotten faces in a fit of morbid fascination, his curiosity disappearing as he realized who those rotting faces belonged to.

He screamed, covering his ears, in a futile attempt to silence the voices. He wanted so desperately to close his eyes – to stop seeing the horror around him, the festering corpses – in vain, his eyes still remaining riveted to the scene in front of him. And when he finally manged to close his eyes, and the yells were faint, he could feel them, the rotten, clawed hands gripping vice-like onto his arms, caressing his skin in a disturbing mockery of affection, and he despaired: they were still there, not just a twisted passing fancy of his mind, he could smell the putrefaction of a long-dead body rolling off their bodies in waves and his nose hurt so much just by breathing in the stench of those corpses – but corpses should not move, shouldn't be able to breathe raggedly over his face and scream into his ears and touch him, so lovingly, so gently that for a moment he almost wanted to stop being scared and embrace the remnants of his loved ones as if they were still alive, but he couldn't, because then he saw the corpses and smelled the stench and could feel the rotting skin.

The screams penetrated his skull, and those anguished yells became part of his existence: he couldn't remember anything, he knew nothing except that litany that had took over his mind and was everything in the bleak scenery surrounding him and those – beings.

NEVER FORGIVE, NEVER FORGET!

Ichigo tried to block the voices once again, and failed once more. But suddenly, the barren wasteland around him became eerily quiet, and he dared to crack open an eye, only to find himself staring into a pair of eyeless orbs, and the darkness in them was so complete, so utterly terrifying and overwhelming he could not bring himself to speak or yell. The thing – his mother, a part of his mind said – smiled, a small piece of skin crackling and tearing away from the side of her mouth, as it opened to whisper something.

For all eternity.

As they – she – whispered the last three words in his ear, Ichigo woke up with a yell to find himself back in his room, in Las Noches. He almost sighed in relief, but then he heard the voices, haunting him again, almost as an echo.

We'll haunt you forever… you let us die… don't you dare forget.

Ichigo started trembling, feeling a wave of disgust and nausea roll over him. Combined with his terror it defeated him, and he collapsed to the side of the bed, coughing and retching into the basin as he emptied his innards.

Ichigo blinked.

Wait a moment… a basin? Where'd that come from?I was sure there was nothing here before.

Shrugging, he made his way towards the bathroom a bit unsteadily, still affected by both the dream and his vomit session, to empty and wash the basin.

Every shadow seemed to be more than a mere, innocent shadow, and more than once he fancied ragged breaths ghosting on the nape of his neck, or the brush of dirty and frayed fabric over his bare arms. When he turned off the lights and the shadows would engulf him he would see his dream, replayed over and over in a matter of seconds, the images imprinted on his retinas, never fading.

Returning to his room, he found Stark sleeping on the couch. Again. He sighed in relief. Lately, the Espada had been clinging to him, almost too much, but he'd become an anchor to sanity and reality. The thought of him not there would somewhat disquiet him – in the last week he'd been doggedly followed, in his lazy way, by the Primera, and had been amazed by the amount of reassurance he exuded. Regardless of Stark's company and reassurance, his nightmares didn't stop.

XxX

Sweat trickled down his brow. It was annoying him immensely, but he couldn't reach up to wipe it away. Everything seemed to irritate him so much more than usual lately. Maybe it had to do with his lack of sleep. Unbidden, an image of a bed formed in his mind, and he could almost feel the blankets' warmth enveloping him. Before he knew it, his thoughts were clouded and hazy, and he began to nod off slightly.

He was awakened by the swish of air a few inches away from his face, and he managed to dodge at the last moment, escaping with just a scratch on his face. His mind unfogged enough to be aware of the surroundings, and of a very lazy-looking Stark, yawning to his heart's content as he twirled his sword around in his hand and – somehow – managed to gaze at him quizzically at the same time.

"Are you sure you slept enough? You should rest more often." He yawned again.

Ichigo smirked. "Yeah, right. And become a lazy slob like you?"

This time, it was Stark's turn to smirk. "You've got a sense of humor, kid."

Suddenly, he disappeared from his sight.

He reappeared behind him, striking a powerful blow. "But that won't save you in battle!"

The strawberry was thrown back a few meters by the sheer impact of sword on sword. Pushed against the wall, he was forced to only defend the oncoming attacks of the Primera and the only counterattacks he could effectively make were a few half-hearted kicks – standing in balance on one foot while having to defend the powerful blows of an Espada is no easy task.

Stark managed to see through his guard, and suddenly he found himself with a slash in his chest and blood-stained fingers.

His gaze unfocussed and his legs trembled. Usually, he would still be able to walk properly even after such a blow, but something had been off with his body – and, he recalled with a shudder, his mind – ever since he'd come back from his inner world. Up to now he hadn't learned any new attacks or moves, and even Aizen had been absent for most of the time. He had completely disappeared from Las Noches, and when he was actually there, he was always busy, leaving Ichigo to his own devices – or rather, allowing Stark to sleep and occasionally sparring.

His heartbeat stopped for a moment, as if squeezed tightly by a hand – and suddenly those hands, those slimy, rotten hands were all over him again – and his world toppled over.

He slashed his sword blindly, not knowing who or what he wash hitting. When the sensations didn't leave him, he tried propelling his reiatsu around him haphazardly, hoping to ward off the creatures that inhabited his dreams.

All his thoughts became a mantra, concentrating on only one idea.

Go away, go away, go away, GO AWAY!

His reiatsu became heavier, the pressure increasing, forming a sort of sphere surrounding the vizard, until it exploded in a flurry of reishi.

The sand started flying everywhere in concentric ripples, travelling with a speed so high that the walls cracked under the pressure and invaded the stark white halls beyond in unseen gusts of wind.

He lost control over his zanpakutou, its form shifting and twisting continuously until Ichigo managed to calm himself, only to collapse onto the floor moments later, exhausted. The last thing he saw was Stark bending over him, a preoccupied expression on his face. And then he blacked out.

XxX

There were voices. Warmth. Sadness. And… the sea.

Blinking, Ichigo opened his eyes. He was on a beach, the sun shining brightly at the zenith. The sea rippled placidly, the water moved by a gentle breeze. It was a somewhat familiar scenery.

Could this be another memory?

And to his great amazement, his mother was there, with Karin, and Yuzu, and Goat-beard. And he was a child. And the world was bright and the skies were blue and happiness was the only thing he knew. He ran towards her with his arms outstretched, a smile painted on his features. He'd treasure every moment of happiness, especially now that he could actually talk and touch and be with them other memories he'd seen.

He embraced his mother – or rather, her legs – and something just felt…

Perfect.

No war, no blood, no death, just a simple existence filled with peace and quiet.

He looked up into his mother's smiling face and realized this was no memory – the corpses were back to haunt him, and it was his mother again. Ichigo yelled in horror and tried to escape, but he was held in place by a vice-like grip. He flayed and kicked and punched – and he was still there, the rotting corpses closing in on him. He yelled and yelled for help, but somehow knew that there was no hope for him in the barren land in which the beautiful beach had transformed into. No one could come to aid him, and he would undoubtedly perish alone, surrounded by – by them.

They sunk their teeth and nails into his flesh – the soft baby flesh untainted by scars. Blood poured down in rivers along his body, and white-hot searing pain consumed the remains of his body – resembling a corpse more and more with every passing moment.

There was no hope. There was just the darkness, the despair. He stopped flailing, tears silently staining his cheeks, and let himself fall. It didn't even hurt anymore – the pain was just background static, and yet he felt it burning white-hot on his flesh. His eyes stared bleakly in the darkness over him, and finally knew, once more, what hopeless really meant.

He wished they would be quicker. Ichigo couldn't stand the slow tearing of his skin, the organs slowly disappearing in one of the their mouths, sinew and muscle and brain and veins parting from the place in which they'd all been jammed into.

He was quite ready to die, but something kept nagging at the back of his mind – that torn mass of grey cells slowly pulsing between a cracked skull.

And it dawned on him – he couldn't let go. He couldn't. There was still him, Aizen, waiting for him. And Soul Society. His hands weren't yet stained with their blood. Somehow, the fierce, burning anger and his mellow feelings towards Aizen were able to coexist, and suddenly he wished to move like he never had – not when saving Rukia, not when saving Orihime or Nel or whoever else.

His arm lifted painfully and he tried to free himself again. He'd almost managed to get away from the pit, but a hand reached out and grabbed his ankle, breaking it with a horrible screeching sound, dragging him back into the mass of swarming, rotting, festering bodies. He screamed again, like he did before – but no sound came out. They'd eaten through his trachea.

XxX

Something went wrong. I knew I should have done something – damn it! I wish I'd been quicker and done something about it – not only will Aizen-sama be furious at me, but I let him die. He's dying and I don't know why, but the only thing I can think of is that I let it happen. I should have made him talk, solve this problem, anything. And now I'm sonidoing towards the sick bay with him in my arms. I'm so stupid. So stupid. I should have learned when I lost Lilynette – if you cherish someone, don't let them slip through your fingers. I hope he doesn't die. I don't want him to.

I yelled for all the doctors present, and ordered someone to go fetch Szayel. He was in a critical condition, not because of the slash I'd left on his chest – of all his physical problems, that was the most irrelevant by far. His body had begun to bleed internally, a few organs missing, his brain damage so extensive that he wouldn't make it through the night, the doctors said, unless he suddenly acquired super high-speed regeneration. He could heal himself, they said, but it seemed he didn't want to.

For a moment, I thought I'd returned to my human days. This had happened so very often I was already preparing myself for the mental shock. And once again, I thought there was something almost poetic about it, the body functions ceasing, everything returning to that stillness that I attempted to imitate while sleeping, still being ever attentive. A part of me was disgusted with this objective view of Ichigo's death, the loss of someone who I had come to respect and treat like a friend. My coldness in this type of situations – maybe except when Lilynette perished alongside me – has always had this effect.

Time passed, though I don't know how long. I'd almost given him up, and was hoping for some kind of miracle by now. And some sort of miracle did come. (Or, perhaps, was it the worst possible thing that could have happened?). The doors slammed open, and Aizen-sama rushed in, preceded by such a blast of reiatsu that most of the doctors collapsed in heaps upon the floor. In all the time I have served him, I have never seen him keeping his control on his emotions this lax, but, after all, it's about Ichigo. He glows like silver, and he looks so desperate I almost think that the one standing in front of me might be a completely different person. I knew there was some sort of bond between them, I had gathered this much, but I didn't think it was quite this profound. But things will come to an end today. I don't believe Ichigo will survive.

But, for the Moon's sake, I wish he could.

XxX

He was dying. Dying, dying, dying. Could he have done something about it, he would have fended off those – those things. But he couldn't. And pain overwhelmed him, his body reduced to tatters. The blood, gushing around, everywhere. He'd try to get away, but he would slip and fall or be physically incapacitated and couldn't move. It stained the sky, the ground, those – rotting, festering disgusting, abominable – corpses, his body. The broken body. The body that had rotted with the passing of years and decades and centuries and millennia – but they still found something to chew on, another way to destroy him and annihilate him, turn him to the barest dust that floated in the barren plain. Light, comfort, warmth and life were unknown to him.

Someone called his name. He didn't heed the familiar voice, he'd had delusions so many times – some lasting years – and knew not to trust the part of his mind that told him that it was all real, that he was safe and people could help him. And once again it all seemed so realistic, he would have gladly given in to his mind's delusions, if he didn't know that it was all just an illusion.

The voice called his name again. It was Aizen's voice. He'd heard it many times, and it always sounded so beautifully, pronounced by fake-Aizen's lips, dark and husky and low and so seductive, like the tempter that lured the innocent prey into sweet, velvety darkness.

But it seemed so real this time. More than any other. He tried to speak, but only an unintelligible groan came out of his mouth.

Moonlight exploded on the bleak plain, the colorless grey sky transforming into a starry night. The creatures shrieked and shrunk away as the moon pierced the sky and the air pressure escalated rapidly.

Is it another delusion?

It isn't, Ichigo. It's happening.

As he was welcomed by the warmth of Aizen's arms, Ichigo felt he could die of happiness.

XxX

"Ichigo! Wake up!"

I yelled for the umpteenth time, my voice tinted in utter desperation, my eyes crazed as my façade of composure melted as his life slipped through my fingers with every passing moment. I refused to lose him. It was lust, desire for that raw, unchecked power and the prospect of a strong ally – that could free me – that , but I soon found myself attracted to many other things about him. Just his presence could color the monochromatic existence I led by now; he made life move with beauty and harmony and perfection.

And he was dying.

I tried to steel my mind, but to no avail: I attempted everything, I even used the strongest healing spells I knew, but his wounds wouldn't close up.

I thought out every possibility, but I had only one option left.

I calmed myself, breathing deeply. The smallest mistake and he'd be dead. And so would my plans, a not-so-gentle side of myself told me. I stood stock-still for a moment, almost chuckling at my anxiety.

I entered his mind slowly, trying to make the least impact possible, not even making my presence visible. It took a while of coaxing, but, finally, he woke up. Tears trickled silently from his eyes. Suddenly, he embraced me. I was still, pleasantly surprised, for a moment, and then I reciprocated the embrace.

Life had stopped and started again, just for him.


	7. Chapter 7: A step closer to the truth

**Note: Contains minor Grimmulqui - just kissing.**

**Chapter 7**

**A step closer to the truth**

He was laying down. The bedding was soft and soothing against his scarred skin – wait. Scarred? When did it get scarred? Ichigo searched his memory, but found nothing for a while. And then he remembered – pain and corpses and a bleak landscape and teeth digging into his flesh. He wanted to writhe and twist and cry out in pain on the bed, but couldn't. He couldn't even open his eyes.

He tried to calm his wildly beating heart, telling himself that all was all right, he was safe now, because – nothing crossed his mind for a moment, because his senses were returning and he could feel the comforting warmth of a hand of someone he knew so well. He wanted to open his eyes. He wanted to open his eyes and see him again – would have given anything to see him once more, perfect and composed and cool and god-like. Patches of light flitted before his eyes, and he collapsed again.

XxX

The next time he came to, his eyelids weren't made of lead anymore and he opened his eyes, letting in the harsh lamplight. He was dazed and disoriented, and it took him several moments to see properly again. He was lying on a bed in Las Noches. Probably one of the hospital wing's rooms. What had seemed lamplight at first was actually the light from the inside dome, painted sky blue and peppered with clouds. Nothing stirred, both in the room and outside. The silence was deafening, so Ichigo looked around, not at the room, which was simply white and nothing more, but rather, at his aching body. He was covered in quite a few bandages, the taut caramel colored skin of his stomach nearly encased in the white cloth. His left hand was bandaged as well and as he flexed it he felt the pull of clotted blood on skin. Where there were no bandages, though, he could see the signs of bandages taken off, some quite recently. Had he not known he'd been injured, he would have thought they had tried to mummify him.

Suddenly, he realized that his throat was parched and dry, as if he hadn't drank for ages. Spotting a jug and glass on the bedside table, he reached over. And then he was painfully aware of the hole in his stomach. It was enormous, and by the feel of it, most of it had already closed, but still leaving a gargantuan gap on his left side. He unwound the bandages slightly, looking at the gap of flesh, and wheezed in pain, but then managed, somehow, to pour himself a glass of water, and to bring it up to his dried lips with slightly trembling fingers.

The clear liquid went down his scorched throat easily, soothing the aching flesh. He sighed, feeling slightly better, only to notice that some of the water had escaped from the hole in his abdomen and into the sheets, carrying some blood with it. He felt nauseous and disgusted, but he couldn't tear his eyes away. It was probably one of the most macabre things he'd ever seen, he thought, head light and thoughts going in circles. The room became unfocussed and it started oscillating to and fro.

He rubbed his eyes. And did it again. It didn't really help.

Lifting his arms became difficult. His movements became sluggish, becoming slower and slower until his strength abandoned him and he let his arms sag onto the mattress, his eyes wide and staring at the ceiling in a daze, mouth slightly agape.

He was broken from his reverie when the door opened. It was a mass of brown hair and pale skin, saying something that went beyond his comprehension – the words seemed slurred and confused. The stranger was getting closer. Something cool but distorted was pressed against his forehead. It seemed to be a hand. The brown-haired man was doing something strange. It felt as if he was creating a current that went inside his head, and the air surrounding the man's hand had a greenish hue. He wondered, briefly, if the brown-haired man meant any harm. Brown hair… the thought floated up lazily into Ichigo's mind, and suddenly the stranger wasn't a stranger anymore. He realized, through a haze, that it was Aizen.

The room began to regain focus, as if a veil had been lifted from his eyes. He felt soothed and content, his aches gone, though his eyes were wide in apprehension.

Aizen stroked his face softly, calming the distraught teen. The man's hands were warm on his face, tickled him as he moved his hair slightly. A thumb rested, stroking, next to his eye, ghosting over the cheekbone.

"You really need to be more careful, Ichigo-kun… or you might get seriously hurt." Something, a foreign emotion, flitted by in his eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it came, leaving Ichigo no time to decipher it.

He continued, his voice low and silky. "For a moment, I believed you wouldn't be able to honor our agreement." Aizen's eyes gleamed with a strange light, appearing almost malevolent. Ichigo gulped. He didn't want to think of what that could entail. A moment passed, and his eyes returned to normal.

"As soon as you get better, you should begin training again. But before that I don't want you to overexert yourself." He eyed him with a meaningful glance. "Don't worry. After all, we have all the time in the world."

Aizen rose to his feet and left the room, a sweeping gaze over his form leaving his skin on fire. The lord of Las Noches smirked once more and left.

XxX

The only sound was the falling of his feet on the tiles, breaking the silence that lay undisturbed like fresh snow. He could have easily shunpoed to his quarters, but he had no hurry. Walking leisurely, and feeling all the others in the immense castle run away as they sensed his presence, was self-flattering, in a way. He felt his own strength coursing through his veins, and was intoxicated on it.

He'd held power over many things and people in his life, but nothing thrilled him quite as much as _this_. Seeing the boy, fragile and wounded, lying down powerless on a bed, listening to his every word as if spellbound… that was truly intoxicating, even more than the feeling of being _so_ strong, which had been a novelty only in his younger days…

And now, as he applied his power on that innocent, beautiful boy lying on the soft sheets, through which coursed power, raw and undomesticated, he bent, slowly but surely. The mere thought of holding sway over someone like him sent his mind reeling and his senses in overload. The boy's power, and the boy's obeying _his_ power, proved more effective than anything else, not even that somewhat vague yet powerful memory of the feeling of opium coursing through his lungs, clouding his mind and inducing him in stupor.

He'd pictured them often, those rose-pink lips, bruised and debauched, parted in pleasure, and did so again. The picture rose quickly and effortlessly in his mind, a sort of lucid dream, real but just out of reach. A pair of eyes, closed in pleasure, and a nose and face and ears and hair, sweat-laden and sticking out in odd directions as he writhed on the pillow. Perfect skin marred by purpling love-bites as he groaned. Aizen's breath hitched a bit as he thought of it, and blood went downwards.

Ulquiorra chose that moment to appear at the end of the corridor. Quite close, actually. Aizen composed himself and schooled his impression. No need to have Ulquiorra know something he shouldn't. The Cuarta could be terribly perceptive at times.

He bowed. Aizen remained still, then bid the Espada to rise. His tone was low and respectful, as always.

"Aizen-sama, I think we should hasten the preparations for battle. Soul Society will not always stay inert like this." His voice was monotone as always, as if he'd been told to repeat the words without knowing their meaning, not affecting him in the slightest.

He couldn't help but smirk softly, patronizing.

"Don't worry, Ulquiorra. We are in no danger. The Rei-O shouldn't be underestimated, though. At the moment, we are waiting for everybody to hone their skills."

Ulquiorra nodded, acknowledging him.

"Yes… we can only hope that Kurosaki Ichigo will make progress quickly, then, Aizen-sama."

Aizen smiled. A rather understanding, cold smile.

"Sharp as always, Ulquiorra. If you don't mind, go and change Ichigo-kun's bandages. I fear he's reopened a wound."

"Yes, Aizen-sama."

The ex-shinigami stood still for a moment as he heard Ulquiorra's resounding footsteps fading in the distance. Then, he began walking again, taking his time. He chuckled softly to himself, the sound falling with surprising ease from a mouth unused to laughter. They had all the time in the world, he reminded himself…

Well, not quite all the time in the world. This _was_ all going to end. Someday. At the moment, the future battle was just a pale shadow, insubstantial, even though time was slipping away fast enough. But time could dilate endlessly for a while more, the hours slipping slowly by in the halls of Las Noches, anticipation a constant, though a rather vague one. Plans unfolding in a future that continued to appear distant and fixed.

Of course, no one knew the full extent of the plan. It would have been a rather fatal mistake, as not too many would be satisfied with it. Ichigo, of course, was to be kept in the dark at all costs. The whole outcome of his schemes depended on him. Well, not just his schemes. He'd grown to like the boy, and of course there was always that enticing thrill of power… not that he was lacking in appearance, either. To put it correctly, saying Ichigo was lacking in appearance could only mean one thing: the person in question needed glasses. And very badly. He decided not to think about it too much, though. He should try to exert some self-control.

He snorted. As if that were possible. Just a look at the orange-haired teen and most people's minds went in the gutter. And it was only accented by the boy's ignorance of the effect he had on people. Something far more dangerous than mere appearance, in Aizen's opinion. Especially when the boy's body was simply screaming to be deflowered. Or when he'd unknowingly ignore not-so-friendly gestures, like the hand in his hair or a loose embrace. Of course, he knew that part of the reason why he let him do so was because Ichigo was obviously interested in him. His gazes and blushes spoke volumes. But even with things like this, just seducing him wasn't the best idea, in Aizen's opinion. He enjoyed toying with him a bit, keeping him on edge, making him more and more infatuated until it turned to affection and then into 'love'.

Or whatever love actually was.

It was something he'd never experienced. He'd known lust, longing, plain infatuation and a curious warm feeling blossoming in his chest, a very long time ago. But not love. It didn't matter anyways. 'Love' could make people weaker. And he simply couldn't quite wrap his head around it. And he didn't really believe in it all that much anyways.

He wanted to make Ichigo want him, he wanted the teen to hang off his every word, wanted his breath to hitch whenever he looked at him. Seeing that beautifully powerful creature become putty in his hands, under his _gaze_, would be mesmerizing, the power pulsing in the other, completely under his control. The urge to _own_ the boy was overwhelming, and terribly tempting. It wouldn't take much to pin him to the wall and debauch him. And Ichigo probably wouldn't put up much of a resistance. But he decided to bide his time. He would wait for Ichigo to be the one to make the first move. He'd wait until the boy was longing for his touch so much that he'd simply break down and give in completely to him.

He was so absorbed in his musings that he hardly noticed when he reached his chamber door. He opened it automatically, still drunk on the thought of the ryoka boy's power and his more 'visible' assets, and ordered the servant to draw him a bath. He wanted to simply soak in water and think about the addictive drug that was Ichigo Kurosaki.

XxX

The minutes had stretched into eons of silence as he lay inert in bed, occasionally shifting to look at something else, trying to keep his mind off the gaping wound in his stomach. The strange thing – a healing spell, Ichigo now realized – that Aizen had done was starting to wear off. Pain was ebbing in again, spreading slowly from the wound like snake venom. Every shift, every twitch now was accompanied by a jolt of pain. To make matters worse, he was bored out of his mind, and so he had nothing to distract him from the pained spasms in his stomach.

He was about to roll off the bed and land on his ass just for fun when the door opened. It was Ulquiorra. He was expressionless as usual, and he was carrying a bottle of disinfectant and a cloth in his hands.

The silence was oppressing, so Ichigo decided to try doing something.

"Um… hi then."

Ulquiorra looked at him in a deadpan way, 'hm'ing slightly in his throat, and then reached into a small cabinet, extracting some bandages.

"Uh… so, why are you here to change my bandages?"

Ulquiorra turned slowly around, his expression betraying nothing, and put down bandages, disinfectant and the piece of cloth on the bedside table.

"Aizen-sama has sent me."

Ichigo didn't say anything for a moment.

"Oh. Couldn't he have sent somebody else?" Seeing the Espada's expression, he added quickly: "Well, I mean, a servant or something…"

"It is none of my business. Aizen-sama has told me to come, and so, I have come."

Ichigo said nothing. Ulquiorra wasn't a conversational type, he could see that much. And talking of Aizen seemed out of the question.

His bandages, dirty and a bit bloodied, were unwound with meticulous perfection, and then were promptly thrown into the garbage can, thudding loudly. The wound was cleaned and disinfected until the skin felt almost raw for its cleanliness. Ulquiorra then carefully applied a thick, greenish paste that smelled like herbs and stung a bit, making sure to not leave any spots uncovered. Ichigo thought he might bash the Espada's head into the wall if he didn't stop it.

The Cuarta was covering it all with bandages when a reiatsu he knew only too well approached. Moments later, a grinning Grimmjow was standing in the doorway, his figure occupying most of the space. When he saw what Ulquiorra was doing, though, he scowled. Especially when he wasn't acknowledged in the slightest.

"Oi, Ulquiorra."

No answer.

Grimmjow growled and strode forward, yanking the Cuarta's thin shoulder backwards just as he was about to close the bandages, his face murderous and inches away from Ulquiorra's.

"Yes?"

Grimmjow growled again in frustration and yanked him forwards, lips crashing against the other's.

Ichigo's jaw hit the floor. This was probably the most unexpected thing he'd have thought to see in a room with the two of them. If he wasn't shocked enough, Ulquiorra was actually reciprocating, moaning into Grimmjow's mouth as the blue haired Espada thrust his tongue in his mouth and his hands roamed his body.

He decided they'd had more than a chance to stop. He coughed loudly.

They tore apart, startled, and stared at him – Grimmjow glaring, actually. Ulquiorra was blushing and the lips of both were swollen and bruising.

"What?" snarled out Grimmjow, temper flying.

"Well, you know, I just happen to get _the biggest shock of my life_ with you two snogging each other's brains out right next to the bed on which I'm lying convalescent!"

Grimmjow just grinned defiantly.

"What, annoyed by homos? 'Cause you'd better get used to it."

Ichigo spluttered incoherently.

"N-no! It's just that you two happen to hate each other and now I find you here, making out into oblivion!"

Grimmjow just kept on grinning. "Yeah, it's mind-blowing. Especially the part in which I start-"

Ichigo covered his ears and began hollering.

"I don't want to hear it! Did I ever ask for the full account of your sex lives? No! So get the fuck out and leave me alone, I don't want to hear details!"

Grimmjow yanked Ulquiorra up from his chair and went over towards the door.

"Jesus, calm down, Berry. No need to freak out. We were just leaving anyways. I need to show Ulquiorra the h-"

"QUIET!"

"Ok, ok, I get it. See ya. C'm on, Ulqui."

And with that, he dragged a limp Ulquiorra behind and strode out of the room, leaving a dumbfounded Ichigo who was still trying to understand how the hell that happened.

XxX

A servant had come in later to change his bandages again. He'd asked the servant where the Sexta and the Cuarta were, and he was answered in a monotone voice that they were probably together in the Sexta's rooms. Ichigo blushed a bit at the thought, not really able to imagine Grimmjow and Ulquiorra together. It was just all… weird. Way too weird for him to even think about it.

The last time he'd been in Las Noches he'd seen them as rivals, one hating the other. But then, when he thought back to it, it seemed as if everything they'd said to each other was different, hidden meanings barely concealed under hateful words.

Plus, when he'd seen them kiss, he'd gotten aroused.

He'd already figured out he liked guys a while ago, about just after Rukia came to the human world. And honestly, he wasn't too surprised. But still, the sight of two of his ex-enemies making out had been reminded – rather forcefully – of his preferences. And he'd never really kissed anyone, except for a quick peck Orihime had pressed to his lips before running away. The sight of Ulquiorra moaning made him wonder about it even more than he should've.

Hichigo snickered. _**Curious, King? 'Cause I bet you could find someone to do you pretty easily…**_

_Shut the fuck up. And go away._

He really didn't want to have to put up with his hollow side, not now at least. Especially after he'd reverted to his trademark rudeness after the whole awakening process.

_**Aww, always so mean? Don't remember you acting like this with dear Sousuke. **_

Ichigo blushed for the umpteenth time that day. It was getting rather tiresome.

_Shut it. Why am I even talking to you anyways?_

_**Suppose you're bored 'nuff. Can't blame ya, though. I ****am**** quite good-looking.**_

_Go away before I punch you. I don't feel like dealing with you now, so fuck off._

_**Fine. Don't complain when the walls are too boring to look at.**_

XxX

It was another two hours before Ichigo decided he was bored to tears in the room. He shimmied his way under the sheets until he was at the edge of the bed. He swung his feet around until his feet were firmly planted on the floor and rose shakily, hanging on the bedside table. His legs nearly buckled under him but he steadied himself, stretching out a bit. A moment later, and he was ready to go.

He made his way to the door, pushing the knob-less door and peered outside into the corridor.

It was completely empty.

He walked down it, his hand always on the wall, not wanting to suddenly lose his balance. The corridor was quite different, compared to the ones near his quarters. For one, it was a lot smaller, and not so long, and the ceiling didn't stretch on for what seemed like miles. The paint, too, wasn't quite as white. There were scratch marks here and there, and there was a spatter of blood near the bottom.

He soon reached the main corridor. Luckily, it was one of the many corridors that led back to his room. It was empty as well, so he crossed the space quickly, his head spinning a bit. He'd never have thought that walking could be so tiring, even in his current condition. He walked uncertainly, swaying a bit, down the center of the corridor. Moving became steadily more strenuous, but he kept on walking, not really caring. He needed to do something. He'd been cooped up in the hospital room only for a few hours at most, but he was so terribly bored that even the monotone walls of Las Noches' corridors were vaguely entertaining.

Soon, though, he grew bored of those as well. His thoughts turned towards what Shirosaki had said.

He knew that he liked Aizen. It was a sort of inexplicable thing. The man, of course, was attractive; he couldn't deny that. With his brown hair, effortlessly styled, his smooth, pale skin and dark eyes that seemed to want to devour him. But his appearance wasn't all. It was just his aura, a sort of irresistible force that always held him in thrall, it was his aura, that, combined with a piercing gaze of those deep brown eyes, would make him do anything. His demeanor, too, was mesmerizing: it just left him there astounded at his calmness in every situation, except when, during the final battle, he'd seen him lose himself, revealing a hidden personality he would never have imagined.

He stumbled closer to the wall, leaning heavily against it, drawing a deep breath. Steadying himself, he made his way towards his rooms.

Yes, he was quite infatuated with Aizen. He'd felt it, that irresistible pull he'd felt from the first time he'd met him, each and every time their gazes met. And he knew he couldn't really do anything about it.

His wound was probably reopening. His stomach hurt and, bringing his hand to the bandages, found them soaked in blood. He looked at his dirty hands dazedly, as if not realizing what was going on. Through the haze, he was vaguely aware that a door on his right had opened, scented steam issuing from it. A figure emerged amidst the steam.

It took him a moment to realize it was a half-naked Aizen, a towel wrapped around his lower body and his lightly toned chest and arms gleaming, still damp. Seeing him, he rushed towards him, looking alarmed. It was strange to see emotion playing so vividly on his features.

His wound throbbed again, and his head spun. He could feel consciousness slipping away, and was convinced he'd hit the floor. Just before he was about to make impact with the tiles, though, he was caught by a pair of arms. Aizen's. He saw his worried face as he was picked up before he blacked out.

Aizen sighed, and ruffled Ichigo's hair, looking disconsolately at his resting features.

"I told you to be careful…" He chuckled.

Carrying him bridal-style, he rested him on his bed, looking at his peaceful face.

He wished it would remain like that forever.

XxX

**Seireitei**

The sun was blazing hot over the city. Two guards stood, or rather leaned against the scorching hot wall, guarding the tiny street. They'd run out quickly of entertainments, especially because they'd been there for hours already.

The one to the left yawned, stretching his arms out. Then, he thought of something to say.

"Oi, Yamada. Did you hear the news?"

Yamada looked quizzically at him. "No. what happened?"

The one to the left smiled a knowing smirk, as if that entailed superiority.

"There's three new captains."

Yamada's eyes widened in curiosity.

"Where the hell did they find new captains? There's hardly any shinigamis up to scratch to even be third seats!"

"I heard they come from that town."

Yamada quirked an eyebrow, waiting for him to go on, and the other huffed in frustration.

"You know, the one that Aizen attacked. I think it's called Karakura."

**A/N: Yes, I've finally updated! I still can't believe it took me so long. I just couldn't write, and most of this chapter was written last night. Sorry for the late update!**


	8. Chapter 8: Memories in the rain

It's finally here! I know you've waited for ages, and I'm sure it'll infuriate you to know that I've written it in about three days. I hope you like it! Many apologies for having made you wait.

Chapter 8

Memories in the rain

Almost six months had passed since his fainting fit.

Time had moved slowly, the days following one another relentlessly, every one almost identical to the next. What had been habit quickly became routine, with more than half his day occupied by training or conversing with Aizen. The man held a powerful influence over Ichigo. At times, it seemed to him that he had been put under some sort of spell – he always pushed himself further, exerting himself to the maximum of his capabilities whenever he trained with the older man, as if starving for praise. This behavior, particularly, almost disgusted him. But thanks to the man, in the past six months he'd become stronger, faster, he had managed to control his reiatsu and mastered kido. But the most significant advancement, at least in his opinion, was all he had learned of Soul Society and the spirit world. It seemed to him that he had been blind until that moment, when the wool was pulled off his eyes. But, even now, he didn't know if he could trust Aizen. He had already tricked, lied to and hoodwinked countless people – a teenage boy would represent no difficulty. At any rate, it had become impossible to deny, both to himself and to Shirosaki, that the man's sway over him was more than it should be. He avoided thinking of it and talking about it to his hollow, but always failed miserably at the former. With much time to think, interrupted only by more time with the subject in question, had given him more occasions to ponder than he could have ever wished for. He was determined to not let his hormones (and feelings) control his actions or influence his decisions, at least in this matter. After all, what was the use of wishful thinking, if a similar idea had probably never even occurred to Aizen? He was quite sick of being hurt. But every action of the other seemed to contradict him – the way he'd press a bit closer than necessary when adjusting his grip on the sword, or when he told him to visualize more clearly a kido spell; the languid, almost sensual tone of voice he used when talking to him. He tried to think of it as casual, maybe even as deception, but it just seemed too realistic, too natural.

Nonetheless, it seemed to him that he had attained some sort of calm. Aizen had never mentioned the deal since the last time, now months ago. The only things that seemed to perturb the calm that pervaded him and the rest of Las Noches were the thoughts of revenge and the threat of the imminent war, looming menacingly over them like a cloud that promised storm. Most of the arrancar seemed not to notice it, like Grimmjow, who insisted on reminding Ichigo in every possible way not only that he was, at least in his eyes, _persona non grata_, but also that he and Ulquiorra didn't care who saw them, and doing what.

To evince the boredom that constantly assailed him or the thoughts that always occupied his head – often joined by Shirosaki's taunts and leers – he'd asked for some books. To his infinite surprise, he'd been led to a wing of Las Noches completely unknown to him, outside the dome. A room of the size of a few cathedrals, with red walls, barely visible behind the millions of shelves and books that nearly covered it entirely, the floor covered by thick carpeting, in which the feet sank, was presented to him as the library. In the centre of the room, completely surrounded by bookshelves, was positioned a long cushion-covered sofa, made of dark wood and upholstered in red velvet. In front of it had been put a low coffee table, of the same polished ebony, and two armchairs, made in the same way as the sofa, had been arranged around the table. Various footstools, made like the rest of the furniture, and ottomans upholstered with the finest fabrics were near. The entire roof was made of a single sheet of glass, letting the pale rays of Hueco Mundo's moon always in. A lamp had been set near the couch and armchairs, and pale globes of light floated midair, illuminating the books. These were all different, bound in leather, cloth or paper, of a seemingly infinite variety of colors. Quite a few of them seemed to be about to fall apart. There were also some paperbacks here and there, and several scrolls stored in various parts of the room. In some places, the books had been crammed into every available space on the shelves, while in others they had been neatly, almost perfectly, stored.

Aizen chuckled at his face, his mouth gaping at the sheer amount of books in the room. The sound echoed softly among the shelves.

"As you might have noticed, I greatly enjoy reading. Unluckily, I couldn't get all the books I searched for, so some are stored in the spiritual library, like the one at Soul Society." His mouth twisted in dislike. "I hate those. It's completely different from actually holding the book. Don't you agree, Ichigo-kun?"

"Y-yeah…"

"You can take books from their shelves using reiatsu. You simply have to think about what you need and it will appear on the table. Do you already know what to get out?"

"Um – no. I was wondering if you could suggest me something" mumbled Ichigo, eyes downcast.

Liquid chocolate eyes bored onto him, as Aizen's mouth curled into its customary smirk.

"I'm afraid I didn't catch that, Ichigo."

"Could you… suggest me something to read?"

Aizen stared at him for a few moments longer, then turned away slightly. A dozen books materialized on the table.

"I will be in my apartments, should you need me."

Trying desperately to slow down his wildly beating heart, he approached the table and lifted up a red copy of _Eugenie Grandet_, by Balzac. Underneath it there was _Notre-Dame de Paris_ by Hugo, _The talisman_, Beowulf, Dumas' _The Count of Monte Cristo _and_ The Three Musketeers_, _Oliver Twist, Tales of the Grotesque and Arabesque_ by Edgar Allan Poe and about other ten books. Ichigo looked at each in turn, reading the description on the back cover when there was one, or reading the biography of the author inside the book.

Underneath a rather battered and worn _The complete works of Shakespeare_ there was a nondescript, brown tome, also this slightly used. Ichigo opened it, and saw, printed in bold letters, _The Kamasutra._ He'd already heard the name, but couldn't remember what it was. Turning the page, he saw a more than explanatory picture. Ichigo's face became bright red and he shut the book quickly, shoving it back at the bottom of the pile. However, he put it – somewhat reluctantly – on a cart so he could bring it to his rooms. Outside the doors of the library, a servant arrancar took the cart and brought it to his bedroom.

XxX

Covered in dust and sweat, all his muscles complaining at the small effort of walking, Ichigo managed to drag himself to the bath tub, and after having undressed, entered the water with a sigh of relief, inhaling deeply the exotic fragrance of the bathwater. After a few moments of blissful, thoughtless relaxation, the memory of the book Aizen had left him resurfaced, tinting Ichigo's cheeks cherry red.

Why would Aizen leave him the Kamasutra? It had probably been to tease him. Or maybe he had noticed. He _must_ have noticed. Had he really been that obvious? He'd always tried to repress his emotions, or at the very least to hide them. Was he really so easy to read?

_Sometimes your stupidity surprises me. Never thought __he might like ya, King?_

**Don't be an idiot.**

_Are ya really talkin' bout me now?_

**Go away.**

_Try ter open yer eyes for once, will ya?_

XxX

Ichigo had been wandering in the corridors, his footsteps echoing in the empty passageways. He'd been lost for a while, meandering along with an easy pace, completely absorbed in his own thoughts. Even if he got seriously lost, he could probably find somebody's reiatsu easily, or be found by a harried-looking arrancar maid, worried about his whereabouts.

Other footsteps echoed in the corridor, behind a turn. As soon as he turned around the corner, Nnoitra's zanpakutou careened down on him, but was swiftly blocked by Ichigo's arm. It retraced, lightning-quick, but Ichigo could predict it. He managed to plant a kick onto Nnoitra's chest, sending him crashing into the wall. Despite the heavy blow, though, Nnoitra managed to emerge from the mass of dust and debris without a scratch, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"You've sure become one tough piece of shit! But don't think it'll be enough. I'll turn ya into a smudge on the walls!"

"Ha! As if you could!"

Ichigo shunpoed behind him, activating Shunko and delivering a karate chop to the back of the Espada's neck. Nnoitra barely managed to move aside, and some of his hair was singed off.

Ichigo shunpoed again, this time hitting his opponent squarely in the chest, sending the Espada flying backwards.

"Pray, Santa –"

Ulquiorra appeared next to Nnoitra, his hand gripping hard the Cuinta's shoulder as he stared at him with his expressionless eyes.

"Stop. If you insist, I will have to kill you. It is Aizen-sama's wish to leave him unharmed."

Reluctantly, Nnoitra lowered his zanpakutou and turned around, heading back into the direction he'd come from.

"Tch. Should've remembered he's Aizen's little boytoy."

"Wh-_what?"_

_Boytoy?_

"You should not listen to him. He is simply spiteful. I suggest you go to your rooms. I can't be here to save you all the time." said Ulquiorra in his usual deadpan voice as he went away, the echo of his footsteps slowly fading in the distance.

"Like I needed saving!" he yelled back at the Cuarta's form, disappearing in the distance.

Dusting himself off, he decided to go back to his rooms anyways.

But had Nnoitra actually meant it? Also Ulquiorra's slightly dismissing tone had seemed to confirm what the other Espada had said. But at any rate, nothing had yet happened to confirm the statement.

'_Yet', huh, King? Ya know, ya could always jump him. Don't think he'd mind too much._

**Shut up.**

_Well, not this time! It's high time ya get yer ass in gear and start doing _something!_ It's been raining all the damn time in here, an' if I get more wetter than this I will personally drown you!_

**Start by s****peaking proper English, idiot.**

_Shut it, idiot__! Still, get a move on and become his boytoy or whatever it is ya wanna become. I'm not getting' soaked fer an indecisive brat._

**I don't want to be his boytoy. Shut up, stop whining and leave me alone.**

_Somewhat on the defensive, huh? __What, wanna be his boyfriend or something?_

…

_Ooooh! Sousuke and Ichigo, sit__tin' on a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G! First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes… well, you're a bloke, so no kids. Too bad though. I would've loved to see who they looked more like. Maybe they'd have Sousuke-chan's hair and yer scrawny body, or maybe-_

"SHUT UP!"

And with a last giggle, Shirosaki did.

XxX

Aizen found that lately he seemed to be in the control room much too often (this was something he'd noticed concerning the shower, too). He wasn't particularly worried about it, though. Being holed up in the room for hours on end in near-complete darkness, illuminated only by the white glow of the screens was a small price to pay, compared to what he saw. He was sure Ichigo wouldn't mind too much, should he ever know. Which he wouldn't. Because, after all, it was best to keep certain things from him, at least until the right moment. The knowledge of his friends' souls being taken had not been planned, at least not quite so early, but had proved to be completely harmless, as everything had ended smoothly, almost better than what he'd hoped for.

Still, the fascination the boy provoked in him was almost on the verge of unhealthy. During his life, he'd often flirted, courted, and seduced, but not once had he felt so powerfully attracted – and this time, it seemed to him that it wasn't purely physical. It was a novel feeling. All his other conquests, whether male or female, had been made out of boredom or for personal gain. Even with Ichigo there was, up to some point, a second end – he needed his trust. In the beginning, he'd thought to be more like a father-figure, a mentor, not a lover. He did not want to risk emotional involvement. But seeing the ascendancy he held over the boy – the knowledge that this teen, so powerful and yet unconscious of his strength, not only respected him and needed him for his revenge, but that he _wanted _him was enough to make him hard. Urahara despised and criticized his lust for power, but Aizen always failed to understand how he could fail to desire that supreme aphrodisiac. Especially when it came alongside Ichigo Kurosaki.

XxX

Sitting cross-legged on the floor with his eyes closed, Ichigo tried for the umpteenth time to clear his mind. He made a point of meditating as often as he could, but this time it seemed that he couldn't concentrate at all. He tried remembering what Aizen had taught him – _close your eyes. Take deep breaths, clear your thoughts… – _Aizen's hands, gently straightening his back… **concentrate!** –_ let them go away like clouds swept away by the wind. Now, visualize a light, that slowly goes higher and higher._ Aizen's voice, low and melodious, seductive, almost; directing him towards nirvana while dragging him deeper into the abyss of temptation. He could imagine that voice speaking to him by a bed, slowly inducing him closer… his eyes shot open, his breath now coming in quick short pants. Sweat ran down his back and clung to his hair. Heat seared through him and he felt a painful hard-on tenting his hakama.

**Fuck.**

He tried, for a few moments, to will it away, but it almost seemed to mock him. He'd had similar experiences in the past – it wasn't uncommon for him to wake up with an erection and find himself forced to deal with it – but it had never happened when he was conscious, or while thinking of someone in particular. Seeing no other way out of it, he sat on the bed and took his hakama off, reaching under the waistband of his boxers and slowly tugging his hard-on, base to tip as his arousal fully hardened. For a moment, he imagined that it was Aizen's hand, not his, slowly stroking him, and he moaned loudly, increasing the pace.

"Ah! A-Aizen!"

He came a few strokes after, bucking wildly into his hand – Aizen's – come spraying over the inside of his boxers. Vision hazy and thoughts completely muddled, Ichigo lay on the bed, panting as he savored the post-coital bliss. Aizen's face seemed to be floating in midair over him, and he felt decidedly groggy, yet giddy at the same time. Any other times he'd masturbated he hadn't felt half as satisfied as he did now. But after all, Aizen was… well, exceptionally attractive, so why shouldn't he feel so much better after having thought of him while masturbating?

_Ya've completely lost it, King.__ What sort of crap is that? Didn't think ya were so far gone._

He immediately sobered up.

**Neither did I. S****ince you're in my head, is there any obvious sign of insanity?**

_Apart from the fact that it's rainin' all the damn time and that last night ya had dreams so dirty th__at I'm surprised he didn't even hear you scream – _

**Quiet!**

_Well, I'd say that since you're talking to yourself, basically, ya are pretty much off yer rocker. __Tootles._

Now feeling rather disgruntled with Shirosaki and too sticky for his liking, he drew yet another bath and plopped in, his limbs feeling like jelly. Unbidden, thoughts of Aizen resurfaced again. Why did he have to be haunted by him even when he was taking a bath? The thought of simply thinking of Aizen irked him. Why did he have to be so infatuated with a man that probably didn't give a damn about him except if he was important for his plots? And yet, Aizen's behavior always seemed to contradict what Ichigo expected him to do. The tone of voice he used, all his actions, the way he touched him, even in the most casual of gestures, as if he were seducing him, were the complete antithesis of what Ichigo had expected when he freed him. He had steeled himself to be treated like a subordinate, not really wanted but necessary, or at the very least cold, but forced, cooperation. But once again, he had underestimated Sousuke Aizen's charm, charisma and persuasion. He had wanted to simply collaborate to destroy Soul Society, help him get to the Rei-O and then continue life as it had always been, without even looking back.

Instead, he had gotten himself too tangled up in this whole affair. Everything had been further complicated when he discovered that his friends' souls had been collected by Soul Society. And that Aizen knew it. What else could he be hiding from him? He couldn't trust him, but he still did so, if at least partially. Yet the way he treated him, _as an equal_, illustrating clearly all his plans, explaining everything in detail and ensuring that he fully comprehended, coupled with his looks and charms, made him want to entrust his life to him. But his conscience told him not to.

The bathwater had grown cold. Realizing that he hadn't washed himself yet, he grabbed the soap and washed his hair and body. Tatsuki would've killed him for idling.

Tatsuki.

He'd almost completely forgotten about her, Keigo and Mizuiro, wrapped up as he was in revenge and Aizen. Were they worried? After all, he had been gone more than five months. Had they searched for him? Maybe they had gone to Urahara. He hoped the shopkeeper had told them something decent, or that wouldn't make them worry, at least. He hated to have his friends be anxious for him: he simply didn't want to be an encumbrance to anyone.

But suddenly a thought occurred to him. It had been almost a year. Almost a year had passed since _that_ night. And also the anniversary of his mother's death was growing near. It seemed wrong to not visit her grave, especially without his father and sisters. But they had had to go into hiding. They couldn't simply stroll up to Karakura's cemetery without expecting to be killed or captured by about a thousand or so Onmitsukidou or Goteijuusantai. He thought his father might make it alone, but with Yuzu and Karin defenceless to protect, it simply wouldn't be possible – and anyways, he was sure that his father, like him, didn't want to involve them more than necessary. He hadn't told Ichigo where they were going, but he had the idea that it was a rather remote place, where it would be harder to be found by Soul Society.

How could he have been so selfish? Up to now, he had probably made each and every one of his loved ones suffer and worry. It was his fault Chad, Orihime and Ishida had been killed, and before that they had been injured and put into countless dangers, only because he had interfered with their lives.

XxX

The next few days seemed to slip by all too slowly. He'd holed himself up into his room, allowing no one to enter. After a few hours, though, he reluctantly admitted in Stark when he came at the door with a platter full of food. Unluckily for Ichigo, though, whenever he came in, instead of commandeering the couch and napping for a few hours, he would prate about him not going to training. Although he professed himself extremely deluded with him for not training harder, he only did so in an extremely bored and sleepy voice, so Ichigo had some difficulty believing his sincerity on the matter. The fact that he had droned on about it for the following four days, occasionally without even being answered, did not help with Ichigo's temper. If it hadn't been for the food that he brought him every few hours or so, and for the company he was desperate for, he would probably have kicked him out.

"Why aren't you training? Aizen-sama's probably getting annoyed with waiting for you every day at the arena."

"I…I just need some time. I'm not sure it's the best thing."

Stark's scowl deepened. "What do you mean? I thought you wanted to destroy Soul Society. Sitting on your bum day after day isn't the way to do it. Get training, so then you can do whatever you want, no?"

"What-what if they're not the problem? What if it's _me_? If I hadn't involved them, then –"

The Primera put a gloved hand on his shoulder. He had a scowl on his face, but his tone was gentle. "There's no need to blame yourself. It would have happened anyways, probably. And they wouldn't have wanted you to think like this, no? But remember: it wasn't you who brandished the sword. It was them."

"They wouldn't have wanted revenge, though."

"Yes, revenge is useless. But only when you do it for the dead. You need this, but not to alleviate their sufferings – you need to do this for your sake, to let yourself get on with life. You know you will never rest if you don't. Think of all they took from you. Your life has been completely altered, your friends are dead and your family has to hide. Isn't this enough to want to kill them? Besides," Stark's face twisted into a wry smile, "I don't think Aizen-sama would be too happy if you reneged on your pact, wouldn't he?"

Ichigo smiled a bit, and wiped his eye with the back of his hand.

"No, I don't think he would."

"Well then!" said Stark, trying unsuccessfully to repress a yawn, "you'd better get your ass to the training area, or you'll be beaten by a third seat!"

"In your dreams!"

The training arena was completely empty, the white sand gleaming in the rays of the dome's sun. Letting their reiatsu free rein, both drew their swords. After a moment of complete stillness, both shunpoed – or sonidoed – forward, their katanas colliding loudly, the sound echoing in the silence. They traded a sequence of similar blows, shunpoing and trying unsuccessfully to get under the other's guard, while the sand around them arced in the air before hitting the ground again.

"It's been a long time since we fought, hasn't it?" Shifting aside to dodge another lunge of Tensa Zangetsu, Stark's sleeve ripped, the blade nearly grazing his arm. "You've gotten faster!"

"And your guard is slack!" yelled Ichigo back as he planted a kick into Stark's chest that sent him flying towards the other side of the room.

Taking advantage of a moment of pause during which Stark was sonidoing towards him, Ichigo dropped his sword.

"Bakudou no nanajukyuu! Kuyo shibari!"

Stark struggled, immobilized by the nine globes of black reiatsu, as Ichigo shunpoed to his other side, sword now in hand.

"Kurogetsu!"

A black crescent moon, outlined in red, appeared beneath Stark's feet. Seconds later, a column of the same reiatsu rose into the air, the very sand disintegrating around it. A few seconds later, Stark emerged, his uniform rather battered, but except for a few scratches completely unharmed.

"Not bad. I didn't think you'd master it this fast. You have no idea what I looked like before high-speed regeneration kicked in."He yawned loudly. "Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to take a nap." And plopping onto the ground, Stark promptly fell asleep.

"What the – OI! Stark! Stark, you bastard! Wake up!" but the Espada kept on sleeping, scowl still in place, even when Ichigo kicked him repeatedly, but in vain.

"Ah! Whatever." Giving up, the vizard sheathed his katana and was about to stomp off in the direction of his rooms, but instead decided that it was high time he and Aizen had a little chat. He had come to a decision, and was resolved upon carrying out his plan, whether the lord of Las Noches was willing or not.

When he was about to knock on Aizen's majestic double doors – not too far away from his own rooms – Ichigo couldn't help but feel a certain sense of trepidation. He could feel Aizen's reiatsu, just behind the wall, slowly pulsing, and he was almost about to abort the whole mission, when the doors opened and Aizen, standing slightly more than a hair's breadth away with a smirk on his face, invited him in.

"Do come in, Ichigo-kun. By the way, I find it rather rude to stand in front of someone's door until they are painfully aware of your presence."

Gulping, Ichigo stepped forward, with the distinct feeling of going into the lion's den.

XxX

Gripping his staff in his only hand, Yamamoto-soutaicho cleared his throat, instantly silencing the low buzz of whispered conversation in the hall. A few bold people continued their whispering, but a quick, withering look from the commander in chief put an end to all other source of distraction.

"You have been summoned here, as you know, to discuss the second upcoming war against Aizen Sousuke, his arrancar, and Kurosaki Ichigo." Everybody's countenance, at this, turned grave. The boy had been a promise, but now the only possible prospect for him, if they won this war, was either execution or lifetime imprisonment. "We have fought against him once, and we have won. Surely, we can do it a second time."

"But," said Hitsugaya, whose face had become stormier than usual at the first mention of Aizen, "last time, if Kurosaki hadn't fought against him, we would have lost. And there is no one strong enough here in the Seireitei who hasn't seen his Shikai."

A low murmur of assent was heard among the captains, but was quickly silenced by the Soutaicho's staff hitting the floor.

"Soutaicho-dono, the reports of our spy say that Aizen intends to attack the Seireitei directly, employing all his available arrancar."

"Ahh, that would be troublesome, no, Ojii-chan?" interjected Kyoraku, straw hat pulled low over his face and a leer curving his mouth.

"Indeed." Yamamoto's lips grew thin, almost completely hidden by his beard. As he closed his eyes in reflection for a moment, the conversations that had been interrupted were quickly continued. Having made his decision, Yamamoto rose. Silence suddenly permeated the room.

"Without Kurosaki Ichigo, our chances of winning this war are decidedly slim. Therefore, a small contingent of captains, lieutenants and lower seats will go to Hueco Mundo. They will either persuade the substitute shinigami in question to return to the Seireitei or to the human world, or they will bring him back by force. I nominate in the rescuing committee the captain of the sixth division, Kuchiki Byakuya; his lieutenant, Abarai Renji; the captain of the tenth division, Hitsugaya Toshiro; the third seat of the eleventh division, Madarame Ikkaku; the captain of the thirteenth division, Ukitake Juushiro, should his health permit it, and Kuchiki Rukia, of the thirteenth division. Kurotsuchi Mayuri, captain of the twelfth division, will arrange for a Garganta and any other thing that might be necessary for the mission." Yamamoto's expression, if possible, grew even more severe. "This is a mission of the utmost importance. Should you fail, Soul Society will be attacked, and possibly destroyed. Do not risk your life uselessly; try to appear undetected and avoid discovery until you are close to the target. Should you encounter the traitor Aizen Sousuke, flee. Remember that not only your life is on the line here. Do not fail. That is all."

After the Soutaicho had retired, all the other captains exited quickly the meeting room, some followed by their lieutenants, others preceded by them. All were enwrapped in their thoughts. Hitsugaya, who seemed particularly moody, was approached by Kyoraku and Ukitake, both with pensive expressions. Kyoraku's, however, transformed into a smile, while Ukitake tried to assume his normal peaceful expression.

"What's the long face for, eh, Hitsugaya-taichou?"

"I don't like this whole business." Matsumoto had already left to attend to her lieutenant duties, so he was walking alone back to the barracks, his scowl discouraging anyone from approaching him. "First, the order for the assassination of Kurosaki's comrades, issued by the new Central 46. They were no harm to us, so what was the use of it? Then, of course, Kurosaki turns coat. But he frees Aizen and escapes to Hueco Mundo."

"Well, it isn't completely devoid of logic. I'm surprised he hasn't attacked us yet." interjected Kyoraku.

"But why did he have to go to Aizen, after all that happened in Karakura? Personally, I can't see why he's siding with him."

"Ah, but you aren't Ichigo-kun, are you?"

"Well," answered Ukitake, his tone gentle, a sad smile on his face "he probably preferred siding with someone who had tried – and failed – to destroy his hometown, rather than forgiving those who had his friends assassinated. Also, he knows how powerful he is, and what a threat he was – and is – to us. He sees his hometown attempted to be destroyed as better than having his friends killed. Zaraki opposed himself, obviously, but look at what happened to him… locked up in prison and evaded…had to run for his life, or he'd have been killed by the Soutaicho in person. Should someone object to it again, Yamamoto probably won't wait to have the prisoner put in jail and tried." All were silent for a few moments, pondering on the recent events. Ukitake decided to try breaking the ice.

"Anyways, Toshiro, would you like some candy?"

Hitsugaya's tone was frigid. "No thank you."

"Not even some chocolate?"

"No, Ukitake." Toshiro sighed tiredly. "Still, there's something strange about this. It's almost as suspicious as the whole Aizen affair again. For the past few weeks, Kurotsuchi's been locked into his laboratory, not coming out for meetings, even when Zaraki evaded prison. And when he emerges, three new captains are appointed, and if they expect me to believe they're their long lost twins –"

Kyoraku silenced him with a gesture, his typical lazy smile stretched on his features, but he appeared worried as well. "Hitsugaya-taicho, it's not wise to speak of such things, at least not here."

Spotting the Onmitsukidou agents perched on the surrounding roofs, Hitsugaya nodded in silent thanks. Nowadays, saying the wrong thing in the wrong place could prove fatal.

"Hmph. There's the ban too, I'd nearly forgotten of that. Just makes the entire thing more suspicious."

Having reached the point on the street after which they separated ways, Kyoraku tried to convince the youngest to join them for some sake, scandalizing Ukitake in the process.

"I can't, Kyoraku-taicho. I have paperwork to do."

"Not even for a few minutes?"

"No, I'm too busy. If I don't get back now, Matsumoto will start slacking off again."

Ukitake's face, although, remained beaming.

"Well, Shiro-chan, have some candy to help you work then!"

And depositing a humongous pile of sweets seemingly sprouting out of nowhere, the two older captains sauntered away, not giving Hitsugaya neither the time, nor the opportunity, to refuse the sweets, or at the very least emerge from them.

XxX

Sitting on the white sofa, closely scrutinized by Aizen, Ichigo was feeling steadily more nervous. The man's gaze seemed to be burning against his skin.

"Would you like some tea?"

Nodding, Ichigo took a mug from the table, holding it up as Aizen poured the golden-coloured, boiling hot liquid in. He took a tentative sip, and then managed to gather up his courage.

"I want to go to Karakura. It's almost… you know, the anniversary."

Aizen's eyes didn't lift from his mug for a few moments, but then he looked at him.

"Actually, Ichigo-kun, only about two months and a half have passed since you came to Hueco Mundo."

"What?"

"Time here moves differently. You have spent nearly six months here, but in the human world or in Soul Society, we've only been gone for slightly more than two months."

"I still want to go."

Aizen nodded in acquiescence. "Understandable. I presume you want to visit Arisawa-san, Asano-san and Kojima-san, though I probably shouldn't meet them, though. I gave them quite a scare during the invasion…" Aizen smiled wryly. "That is, before you came along, of course."

"Can we leave today?"

"Provided that Szayel has two ready gigais… Your body was left in the human world, wasn't it?"

"Yes. Kon is using it. He went into hiding. With my family." Suddenly, he could feel tears welling up in his eyes, but suppressed them. He wouldn't let himself cry.

In the meantime, Aizen had tactfully ignored his tears, and had busied himself with contacting Szayel. Having given Ichigo the time necessary to compose himself, he turned around.

"We can leave as soon as you're ready, Ichigo-kun." He said softly.

"Let's go, then."

Ichigo followed the older man to the meeting room, where Szayel had brought two gigais. With their blank faces and white skin, they almost seemed half-finished dolls. They were already dressed, one in black and white clothes he couldn't quite make out in the shadows, and the other in a pair of Ichigo's jeans and one of his t-shirts. Even the shoes were his.

"Where'd he get the clothes?"

Szayel stepped out of the shadows, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose.

"I simply recreated something you were seen wearing in the human world. It was easy."

"Oh. Thanks."

After they'd slipped into the gigais, Aizen opened up the Garganta. In the dim light of the meeting room, Ichigo could barely discern him from the other shadows, but he followed him into the black hole across the worlds. Inside, Aizen had created a path of reishi large enough for two to walk side to side. The air was cold, and the way forward was only illuminated by the milky glow of the pathway. Aizen looked somewhat odd dressed in a two-piece suit with a white shirt and tie, but he appeared, if possible, even more attractive. He had gotten used to see him always wearing hakama and some sort of loose top over that with a haori. The suit, instead, though not skin-tight, highlighted Aizen's slim but toned figure. Ichigo's eyes snapped ahead, realizing he had been staring, but he didn't miss the smirk on Aizen's lips, and his heart rate accelerated ever so slightly.

The Garganta opened up in a deserted park. The sky overhead was overcast with great black clouds that promised storm. In the distance, thunder rumbled. Ichigo closed his eyes for a moment, breathing the air that already smelled like damp. He was home.

"Your friends are at Urahara's shoten. Maybe it would be best if I waited here."

"I don't think they'd mind."

Walking at a slow pace, trying to blend in and not be noticed, Ichigo looked around, a thousand memories resurfacing painfully. He had missed his hometown and everybody in it, but being there without Ishida complaining and Orihime cheerfully chatting about the most random subjects to a silent Chad made him feel almost incomplete. Aizen walked silently next to him, as if not wanting to disturb his thoughts. Ichigo would have given anything for a distraction of any kind, but he seemed incapable of speaking at the moment.

After what had seemed an interminable amount of time, they found themselves in front of the shoten. Going in past the rows of age-old candy and barely concealed boxes of merchandise from Soul Society that hadn't fit in the storing room, they approached the sliding door, behind which voices could be heard. Aizen was looking around bemusedly.

"I never thought it would be quite… like this. I expected something flashier. Urahara always had a flair for excesses."

The door in front of them slid open, revealing Urahara sitting at a low round table with Tatsuki, Keigo and Mizuiro.

"I still do."

Keigo jumped at him, sending him sprawling on the floor with a hug and a scream of "BERRYYYY!" Mizuiro seemed to lose his typical apathy, stepping forward to greet him. He tried to appear nonplussed, but was clearly relieved. Tatsuki finally rose, moving towards him as if sleepwalking, her eyes opened wide, as if not believing what she saw. Ichigo smiled, trying to bat off Keigo, who was hugging him with a vice-like grip.

"I'm back."

Tatsuki's stupor evaporated instantly, and she ran towards him, punching him in the gut and sending him tumbling back down on the ground.

"OW! What the hell, Tatsuki?"

"You complete idiot!" (kick) "What the hell do you think you're doing!" (punch) "You disappear out of the blue, don't show your face for TWO FUCKING MONTHS and now you turn up and say 'I'm back!'?" she continued hitting him, Ichigo not even putting up resistance. It was best not to try reasoning with her right now. Keigo, horrified at so much violence, tried to object, but was kicked under the belt and lay insensible on the ground for a few moments. Mizuiro sagely returned to texting.

"Try not to get blood on the floor, Arisawa-san, or you'll have to clean up!" added Urahara amusedly, a wide smile hidden by his paper fan. Aizen chuckled.

"Really, Ichigo-kun, I never thought you'd let yourself be beaten up like this."

Immediately, Tatsuki stopped hitting the redhead, completely astounded at seeing the man who had invaded Karakura almost a year ago. Keigo was suddenly conscious again, and Mizuiro stopped texting and snapped his phone shut.

"What the hell is he doing here? Why did you let him in, Urahara-san?"

"Simply, Ichigo-kun and I joined forces. Beating Soul Society on his own would have been a bit… difficult."

Mizuiro had an angry look on his face. "Soul Society? You mean the organization that had Ishida, Chad and Inoue killed?"

"Exactly."

Recovering the use of his jaw, Ichigo added: "We're attacking soon."

Tatsuki gripped his shirt, her eyes fiery, an almost manic expression on her face. "Let me come."

"No. You'd get hurt."

"IF YOU DON'T LET ME COME, I SWEAR I WILL – "

One of the tatami in the room lifted, and Isshin Kurosaki, wearing a pink frilly apron, a net on his hair and soapy rubber gloves, appeared.

"What's all the noise up here, Urahara? Yuzu and Karin are taking a nap, and if someone wakes them up again I'll kill –" his eyes landed on his son, bruised and battered from all of Tatsuki's blows. "_Ichigo?_"

"_Dad_?"

XxX

A messenger landed in front of the Onmitsukidou captain in the Second Division's barracks.

"Taichou, we have reports that Kurosaki Ichigo and Aizen Sousuke have been sighted in Karakura-cho."

"Send out the squads, then, and ask the Soutaicho if one or two of the captains or lieutenants can assist us in the mission. Last time, they were underestimated by Soi Fon-taicho. We will not commit any mistakes this time."

"Yes sir!"

At the same time, Byakuya and Renji were doing paperwork – or rather, Byakuya did his job, while Renji stared alternately at the wall, at the window, at his taicho and at the door, having long since given up on getting it done.

"Renji, start doing your paperwork, or I will demote you."

Startled out of his reverie by his captain's steely tone of voice, Renji managed to say a hasty "Hai!" before attacking his work with renewed vigour – which quickly evaporated a few minutes afterwards.

"Taicho…"

"Yes, Renji?" answered the captain, his eyes not lifting from his paperwork.

"Why do you think Ichigo betrayed us?"

Byakuya stopped writing for a moment, pen still poised in hand.

"He'll have had his… reasons."

He continued writing.

"But, Taicho, they told us lieutenants that he'd freed Aizen and escaped to Hueco Mundo… that's no reason at all!"

Byakuya looked up at his fukutaicho. "If you insist, I must tell you that we were ordered not to divulge this information. Continue your paperwork, Renji."

Renji looked down glumly down at the pile of papers on his desk.

"Hai, Taicho."

The fukutaicho was about to begin another gruelling paperwork session when he was interrupted.

"Renji," added Byakuya, "should the Onmitsukidou discover that you know that the Central 46 has ordered Kurosaki's friends' assassination, you wouldn't live through the night." He looked significantly at the redhead. "So do not say anything. I'm putting my life and position on the line now to explain to you and I am prepared to have to take care of you _personally_ if something should slip. Am I clear?"

Renji's face was now horrified at the thought of what happened to Ichigo's friends – and of Senbonzakura getting too cosy with his neck. "Hai, Taicho. But why – "

A knock sounded at the door. Both the captain's and Renji's hands gripped their katanas, expecting an irruption of the Onmitsukidou.

"Abarai-fukutaicho-dono?"

"Yes, enter." Byakuya's voice, even though his considerable agitation, was firm.

"Excuse me. I have an order by the Soutaicho-dono. Abarai-fukutaicho-dono is to go to the human world to retrieve or bring back by force Kurosaki Ichigo. Fukutaicho-dono, you must be at the senkaimon in fifteen minutes."

A frown formed on Renji's features. "Am I going alone?"

"No, fukutaicho-dono. You will be accompanied by a few platoons of the Onmitsukidou and of the Kidousha."

Renji and Byakuya exchanged a significant gaze. If the Kidou division, which usually did not appear in public and kept to the shadows, was acting so openly it was probably a mission of the maximum importance.

"Why me, if the Special Ops and the Kidousha are handling the bulk of the mission?"

"Soutaicho-dono did not tell me. You may ask him at the Senkaimon. Excuse me."

Still puzzled about why he was asked to participate in a joint mission of the Onmitsukidou and the Kidousha, Renji straightened his papers and took leave.

"See you later, Taicho."

"Renji," he was about to exit the door, when Byakuya spoke. "be cautious. And about what I said" – his gaze became steely – "do not tell anybody. Not even Rukia. You may go now." They stared at each other for a moment, but then Renji said "Hai, Taichou" and went out, sliding the door closed.

At the senkaimon, dozens of Kidousha and Onmitsukidou agents were assembled. The Soutaicho was not present, despite what the messenger had said. He was approached by an Onmitsukidou squad captain, his features completely hidden. He was only distinguishable by the different uniform used by the squad captains.

"Abarai-fukutaicho, I am the captain of Squad 5. When we arrive in the human world, you shall approach the target first. You must try to convince him to come back to Soul Society. If you fail, we and the Kidousha will take him away by force. That is all. Do you understand?"

"Hai."

"Very well then. They have opened the senkaimon. There is no time to lose."

Stepping into the Dangai, Renji felt disgust coiling in his stomach. How could he have even agreed to this? Ichigo was his friend, and yet he was betraying him. And when the moment came, could he really do it, knowing why Ichigo had turned against them?

XxX

"Why don't we leave father and son alone for a while, eh? I'll get you a cup of tea, Aizen-san." Urahara left the room hurriedly, closely followed by Aizen, seeing Isshin's face. As soon as the door closed, Isshin glared at his son.

"What the hell were you thinking, Ichigo?"

"What?" he asked, confused at his father's sudden outburst.

"Don't 'What?' me! Why'd you side with Aizen? _Are you out of your mind_?"

Ichigo glared at him. "No, I'm not. At least, I don't think so. And I'd like to know why you're treating me as if I made the biggest mistake of my life."

"Ichigo, he tried to destroy Karakura!"

"Do you think I don't know it? Right now, he's the only one I can trust!"

"How can you? Look at what he did! He tricks, blackmails and lies! That's all he's ever done in his existence, from the very first day!" Isshin's hand banged on the table, punctuating each of the last three words.

"He's been straight with me from the beginning. He knows what I want and he'll help me. I agreed to do the same."

"Has he really told you _everything_? No secrets?"

Ichigo remained silent, averting his gaze.

"I thought so. Do you know why Urahara, Yoruichi and the Vizards were exiled? Huh?"

"Yes, Urahara told me."

"He destroyed their lives, Ichigo, just because he wanted to make an experiment on hollowification and test the Hogyoku's powers! If you put your trust in people like him, you're out of your mind."

"Maybe I am." answered Ichigo frostily, his temper rising quickly.

Isshin's tone softened. "Look, Ichigo, I know that you want revenge for your friends. But it's not the right thing to do. Violence always brings more violence. Once it starts, it never ends. And Aizen is just using you for his plans. Trusting him is not the right thing."

"But if I don't avenge them, I'll never rest easily! Don't you understand?" a sob erupted from his chest. "They killed them, and I couldn't do anything. I was there, and they died because I wasn't strong enough. I _need _revenge."

Isshin swallowed, deeply shaken by Ichigo's words and the desperation behind them. He'd never mentioned the events of that night, so he had no idea what had really happened – except that his friends had been killed and that his son had been destroyed by it. He took his hand.

"I'm sorry. Do what you want. But remember: do you really have the right to take human lives?"

Ichigo didn't answer, looking at the floor.

"Beware of Aizen, Ichigo. Don't let yourself be hoodwinked."

Ichigo sniffed, wiping away a stray tear. "Thanks, Dad."

Isshin's smile was teary. "Whatever happens, I'll still love you. Don't forget it."

"I love you too."

Isshin hugged him, simultaneously crashing into the table.

"Oh, my son! If only Masaki could see you!"

"Okay, okay! Geroff!" he said as he tried to avoid getting strangulated.

"I'm going to speak to Aizen. He needs to know what he's up against if he harms you." And with that, he yanked open the sliding door, hollering : "Oi! AIZEN! GET IN HERE! Ichigo, go talk with your friends. Us adults" he said, puffing his chest, "are going to discuss some stuff."

Ichigo snorted and hit him on the head. "Like you qualify as an adult, Goat-beard."

He barely heard the "Just like the old times…" his father said, before Aizen arrived, inquiring what Isshin wanted.

Keigo was sitting on the step right outside, his face in his hands and a strangely pensive expression on his face. Mizuiro was in a corner, trying to appear nonplussed as he texted non-stop. Tatsuki was nowhere in sight.

Seeing him, Keigo's expression became hopeful. "Are you staying, Ichigo?"

"No. I just wanted to see you guys, and I've got to do something important. I'll leave after I'm done."

"Can't you –"

"No. I'll just be gone for another while, and then I'll be back – for good, I hope. But what's happened to Tatsuki? I've never seen her like this."

Keigo's face clouded, and Mizuiro snapped his phone shut.

"Well, you saw her after their deaths, no? She was so shocked she could hardly speak. She would do like you, closing herself up in her room… she didn't want to see anybody. And after you left, well… she got worse. She stopped coming to school altogether. Her parents tried to console her, but one day, she disappeared." Keigo's voice broke, and he seemed about to cry, but he went on. "We searched for her everywhere. We found her in Inoue's apartment. It was – it was horrible! She was lying in a puddle of blood and was almost dead. Mizuiro and I barely got her to the hospital. She's been staying here with Urahara ever since." Unable to hold his tears anymore, Keigo sobbed uncontrollably, burying his face in his hands as if it would make him forget what he'd seen. Except for his sobbing, the room was deathly quiet, and no sound came from the other rooms. When Mizuiro spoke, his voice was slightly strained, but he kept his emotions in control as always.

"She wants revenge like you, Ichigo. Urahara's been training her until now, and she's strong, but I don't think she can handle it. She'd get herself killed because she's too angry."

Tatsuki appeared at the door, her face set in an expression of annoyance, like when everything had still been simple.

"As if I would, Kojima. And if I die, I'll make sure to bring with me as many as I can, whether they saved Karakura or not."

Ichigo's smile was sad. "They're not all like that, you know? Remember Rukia?"

Tatsuki's expression turned ugly. "If she was such a nice person, why didn't she do anything? Why did she let them die, when they risked their lives with you to save her?"

"I don't know, Tatsuki. I don't know. Nothing seems to make sense anymore."

XxX

The senkaimon opened in a street near the shoten. The special ops squads spread out, moving soundlessly in the shadows with the Kidousha. Renji, instead, walked straight up to the door, sliding it open. Urahara was sprawled on the floor, hat pulled low over his eyes, throwing them into shadow, and paper fan in hand. His geta had been carelessly put down near his feet.

"Abarai-kun! What a pleasant surprise!"

"Hello, Urahara-san. Is he here? I'd like to speak to him."

Urahara's smile vanished. "I don't know who you're talking about."

"Come on, Urahara-san. I just wanna talk to him."

"I'm sure the Onmitsukidou and the Kidousha out there also want to have a chat."

"Look, I came here to warn him. He'll never survive, there's too many –"

Aizen leaned against the doorway. "I think we can handle them easily, Abarai." he said coldly.

Renji gritted his teeth. He hadn't imagined that Aizen might be there too, and nobody had prepared him to this. The memories of how easily he'd been defeated on the Sokyoku came rushing back.

"You have to get away. They're determined not to lose this time. They sent me in to convince Ichigo to come back to Soul Society. You've got to open the Garganta and go now!"

Ichigo's head appeared in the doorframe, his face creased in worry. "Who's out here? Did they find us?"

Nobody answered him, and then he saw Renji.

"Ichigo! Listen to me, you have to get out –" "What are you doing here Renji?"

"Look, there's no time now to argue. There are a dozen Special Ops squads and people from the Kidousha outside" – "I noticed." – "and you've got to go _now_. They sent me in to convince you to come back to Soul Society, but if I fail, they'll take you back by force. Go now while you can."

Ichigo was silent for a few moments, torn between trusting his friend or hating him because he hadn't done anything to prevent his friends from being killed. Hate won.

"Why did you let them die, Renji? WHY DIDN'T YOU DO ANYTHING TO STOP THEM?" now shouting, Ichigo grabbed the redhead by the gi, looking at him straight in the eyes.

"We didn't know anything. Kuchiki-taicho told me before I left, but before that I thought they were still alive. They've issued a ban against speaking of the subject." Renji smiled sadly. "I'm sorry. They were all great people."

Ichigo glared at him. "And you expect me to believe this bullshit? I should kill you right now."

Urahara, looking nonplussed, put a hand on his shoulder. "Kurosaki-san, it's true. I got the news recently myself. And I might remind you that I don't want any responsibility, whatever happens. If you have to kill him then, Kurosaki-san, please do so outside. A candy shop owner can't get in trouble with the police, eh, it simply wouldn't do! Especially if you get the floor dirty, as there's nobody but me and Tessai these days that do any actual work."

Ichigo let go of Renji's gi apologetically, a small smile on his face. "Sorry. It's just that I don't know what to believe at the moment."

"Don't worry. I'd have done the same." Lowering his voice, Renji added "So… Aizen, huh? Why'd you side with him?"

"He's the only one I could think of who could beat your ass without problems. On the other hand," Ichigo smiled "if I'd needed an idiot more baboon than human to scare them off, I would have asked you for help."

A vein pulsed on Renji's temple. "You ugly little –"

"I hate to have to interrupt you, but we have to get going, Ichigo-kun. I'd rather not have to waste time. We came for a reason, didn't we?"

Ichigo nodded. "Let's go. See you, Renji, Urahara-san. Take care of Tatsuki."

Urahara doffed his hat and opened the door.

"Take care, Ichigo." said Renji, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Wouldn't it be suspicious if after having knocked everyone out, Abarai-kun would be still conscious?" said Urahara, his fan hiding his widest smile yet. Renji backed away cautiously, his hands in front of him. "Wait a sec, Ichigo…"

"Sorry, Renji. See you some other time."

A sharp pain in the neck, and then everything went black.

XxX

"He's coming out alone. Abarai must have failed."

"Aizen's there as well!"

"They're still in gigais. Attack anyways."

Hundreds of the Special Ops and Kidousha shunpoed into the courtyard in front of the shop, completely surrounding Aizen and Ichigo. Urahara's face was visible in one of the windows as he peered out, observing the battle.

The Onmitsukidou attacked together, moving forward at the same moment. In the meantime, the Kidousha had erected a kekkai, sealing off the area, apparently trapping the traitors. The Onmitsukidou was about to knock their opponents unconscious, predicting an easy victory; but Aizen and Ichigo struck down the shinigami while still in their gigais. Not losing their cool even in the situation, the Onmitsukidou agents continued attacking, but were all inexorably rendered unconscious. Even while in gigais, Ichigo and Aizen moved much too quick for any human being, invisible even to the shinigami as they struck them down. Seeing that the situation was desperate, the Kidousha attempted trapping them in a barrier, but Aizen and Ichigo had already broken the first barrier. They, too, were swiftly rendered unconscious, and the vizard and the shinigami walked off, as if nothing had happened.

Urahara looked at their retreating figures for another moment, and then turned around.

Now, what to do to Abarai-kun?

XxX

Lightning streaked across the sky, and thunder rumbled a moment later. Karakura's cemetery was completely silent except for the pattering of pouring rain. Only two people were present: one was a teenage boy with hair of an outrageous color, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, staring at three graves, one next to the other. The other person was a tall, slim man, dressed in a suit and leaning against a wall and looking in another direction, as if to give the boy some privacy.

Across the boy's cheeks, mingled with the rain, were tears.

He remembered the day of the funeral. Unlike today, the sun had shined brightly, the birds sung, and flowers grew in the boxes nearby the entry. It had seemed like an offence, as if the entire world wanted to remind him that Chad, Orihime and Ishida would never live to see something as beautiful as that. The cheerfulness of the scenario, too, irked him: Nature seemed to make fun of his pain and suffering, showing him how life went on, not caring about their murders.

He hadn't heard a word of the service. They seemed all empty, useless; invented by people who knew nothing of them and could care less if they lived or died. Ichigo didn't bother making a speech. Words, in the last month, had failed him. He couldn't muster any to express properly what he felt, and what they had been to him. During the whole service, he had stared ahead, almost completely insensible, in some remote recess of his mind still not believing they were gone, not accepting it even though he'd seen them die.

He only truly realized they were gone where they couldn't come back from when he saw the coffins being lowered into the earth.

The tombstones were white marble, standing out against the gloom of the sky and of the cemetery. Their names were spelled out in large characters, with epitaphs written underneath. He never bothered reading those; they would simply be more lies. Fresh flowers covered the graves.

The reality of their deaths hit him again full force as if it had been the first time. Closeted in the white halls of Las Noches, thinking constantly of revenge, lamenting their loss, more spiritual and physical, he had had almost little time to think about what the tombstones meant, and had almost forgotten about their bodies, the materialization on earth of people he had laughed and suffered with, rotting under the earth, maimed and destroyed even more with each passing moment while the ones that had destroyed the life that had once animated these putrefacting corpses still roamed free…

He felt his knees buckle, nausea coiling in his stomach, but the earth didn't come crashing onto him; he was held by a pair of strong hands that slowly pulled him up and made him stand once again. Propped against Aizen's chest, near insensible and envelopd in a apir of strong arms, great sobs wracked his frame as he let himself go, letting out everything that he'd bottled up in the past months. When he'd exhausted his tears and composed himself, they walked slowly towards the cemetery gate, neither saying a word. He looked behind him for a moment, the tall white rectangular tombstones, covered in flowers, standing in sharp relief against the others. Another tear found its way down his cheek.

Aizen lifted his chin, turning his face towards him and delicately dried his eyes. The rain kept on falling in the cemetery, their clothes clinging tightly to their skin. His heart beat wildly in his chest. They were so close…

"The time for shedding tears is past. You have to look towards the future, Ichigo. Do you want me to be in yours?"

Aizen's voice was low and husky, his eyes staring into the redhead's. Their bodies were barely apart; their breath mingling.

Without breaking eye contact, Aizen bent forward slightly, and their lips met, chastely at first. Ichigo's eyes slowly closed as the older man coaxed his lips open, his tongue probing every inch of his mouth, as if memorizing each ridge and plane, eliciting soft moans from Ichigo. His hands, almost automatically, wrapped around Aizen's neck, bringing him closer, while the other's carded in his hair and sat on his hip, rubbing small circles on his skin and drawing him even closer, their bodies melding. Aizen's tongue moved sensuously in his mouth, and Ichigo could not keep the pace, lost in a myriad of sensations. Aizen's hand moved slowly up his back, then downwards, resting a bit lower than his hip.

Oxygen ran out fast, and they broke away gently, slightly breathless. Ichigo's heart was still beating wildly in his chest, their bodies so close he could feel Aizen's heart, too, rapidly pumping blood in his veins.

"Yes."

**A/N: Reviews are welcome. Originally I didn't expect it to turn out like this, but it did, and it's not bad, at least in my opinion. The next chapter, don't worry, is underway.**


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